Things Rich and Strange
by Anti-canon
Summary: Ondine fusion- Marcus is content to whittle what's left of his life away as a quiet, unassuming fisherman, until the day he catches Esca in his nets.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh sweet babby Jesus I cannot believe I actually finished this thing. :P I have been writing it off and on for months now and I am just so thoroughly pleased to say that I have written THE last word for it. ^^ This is the longest fic I have ever had the pleasure of working on and I am so thrilled that it is for the fandom that I may or may not love the most.**

**This, in case you didn't know, is a shameless adaptation of the film Ondine, with some very specific twists. I am hopelessly in love with the story and decided to write out the little things that I didn't like and insert the things I love the most. AKA slash. :P HUGE thanks to kenshincha over on LJ for beta'ing this for me and putting up with the thousand and one self-conscious emails I sent, constantly questioning what the hell I had gotten myself into. Without them, this surely wouldn't exist.**

**To avoid confusion! When the fic is in third person, it's from Marcus' perspective and when it switched to second person, it's Esca's. ^^ If you asked why I wrote it that way, I would have no idea how to answer. :P**

**ANYWAYS! I do so hope that y'all enjoy it and I am dying to know what you think! I spent absolutely forever doing this, and positive or not, I'd love some feedback. ^^ Title stolen from The Tempest.**

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Marcus gets up before the sun has even broken the horizon, bundles in several layers, grabs a meager breakfast with an unhealthy amount of coffee, and heads out into the grey morning. It's the same process every day, and it's been like that for nearly three years. Three long years he's been working to put himself back together, and though it can seem tedious at times he is actually quite thankful for the routine. Having such a demanding schedule- a job that commands the whole of his attention day in and day out has given him the strength and structure needed to get his life out of the gutter. Many might not think much of a fisherman's life, especially in this day and age, but he could hardly imagine anything more he needed to be content.

Well, maybe hauling in a catch that brought a profit instead of a loss, but still. It is the one thing he allows himself to grouse over each morning as he makes the short walk to the docks, feet dragging in the ever present puddles that pepper the gravelly paths. The cold tries its damnedest to seep into his skin as he pulls his hat down lower over his ears and fishes his gloves out of the back of his coveralls. Once the shore is in sight, a slew of familiar faces greet him- the majority of breadwinners in the small seaside town up before dawn, a morning prayer on their lips for good fortune or healthy family. Some of them look at him with barely concealed contempt, others with bored acceptance, and a special few spit at his feet. No matter how hostile they are on the spectrum, all of them still see him as an outsider.

He shrugs their stares off just like every morning and makes his way down the craggy cliffs, because he may not have been born here, raised here, molded by the environment, the people, the church, but he has earned his place. He's worked just as hard, given just as much, so he stays to prove it to them, to himself. And though their refusal to accept him is always a dour subject for him, when _she_ comes into view it all fades away. She is his most prized possession, his closest confidant, truly something he could not live without. _The Eagle_ is moored in her own private little cove and though her paint is peeling, her metals rusting, her every surface covered in grime, she is his. The single-man trawler looks to all the world like your ordinary, run-of-the-mill fishing vessel with the grimy nets and pulleys on the back, and the cramped captain's booth up front. But she has character and meaning more than he can describe and he supposes it really doesn't matter what others think of her, as long as he knows just how special she is.

The grey waves maker her bob and sway, lapping up against her sides and setting the beat for the tune that the sea sings. The crash of the breaking tides, the creaks and groans of his ship, the cry of the birds, the bark of the seals, all work into a symphony so calming he forgets everything else while he is out on the waves. He works quickly to unfasten _The Eagle_ from her lonely docking, eager to be out there, leaving everything behind, just for a few hours, and hoping that today might finally be the day his luck turns. The rope is coarse on his fingertips, the metal rough, the wood smooth from years of use. He steers her out to sea, engine chugging contentedly and finally he is happy to see the start of another day.

Marcus waits diligently until noon each day to fish his sandwich out of the rumpled brown paper bag that accompanies him to the ship and as he peels back the tin foil to bite at the smashed bologna on white, he fondly remembers back to the days when the overwhelming stench of fish still staved off his appetite. He chuckles, thinking about how many lobsters had gotten the best of him and then promptly been thrown back over the side in his anger at their fondness for pinching him in only the most tender of places. The damned things were smart and he'd had to learn it the hard way- along with everything else.

He taught himself what was worth the effort to catch, the best way to snare them, where to sell them. He'd spent many a frustrating hour in the small public library, doing his best to make his way while the townspeople peered in frequently as though he were some kind of exotic oddity. Even then, when their curiosity was still strong, none actually dared to speak with him, sit with him. But it was no great tragedy in his mind. He had always been a somewhat solitary soul and he was used to loneliness. Even if he hadn't been so inclined earlier in his life, his choices had brought him down a path that taught him quite quickly that he was the only person he could truly rely on, and even then- . Everyone he had had the misfortune to become close with in his formative years had only been looking out for one person. He'd tried it himself at one point, just foolish and selfish enough to figure if others could do it, so could he. It hadn't ended well.

He shakes himself out of his somber thoughts when the gears begin to groan, the trawl needing to be brought up and he crosses to the back of the boat- taking care not to trip over the many trappings on the deck. Again. He stands next to the rigging while the pulleys creak and he can't help but smile at the sound of it. It's been a while since they squealed like that and he hopes that it signals a hefty catch instead of pulling up another bundle of crap someone has decided to dump into the water. It happens far more often than you might think and much, much too often for his tastes. It near drives him mad every time the net breaks the water, only to have a truly grotesque pile of garbage be tangled inside.

But this time, this time it will be different. He can sense it. And when he catches glimpses of something that is most assuredly _not_ garbage through the waters, his heart clenches from excitement. He can hardly contain it as the trawl finally starts to emerge, water pouring out the sides and momentarily obscuring his catch. Finally it all clears, and his heart clenches in an entirely different manner when he makes out just what he has caught. He hesitates for a few seconds, caught off guard, body still for that moment of indecision, but then everything snaps back into place and he is moving.

He grabs at the net and heaves it over the side, ripping at it to get the stupid thing open. His hands scrabble in his panic and he has to try and slow himself enough to actually be of use. He tears the net open and out topples a naked boy, looking only just into manhood, soaked completely through, skin sickly pale and turning a sort of green as though he'd actually taken on the pigment of the sea. Marcus desperately tries to remember any of the things about resuscitation he might have gleaned from school, or TV, anything. He lays the kid flat and pounds on his chest, hard, before pinching his nose and leaning down to blow air into his lungs. He repeats it again and again, unaware that he is screaming himself hoarse. "C'mon! Breathe! Breathe!"

He pounds on the fragile form with increasing frustration and hot tears are spilling down his cheeks, making him gurgle. And just when he is about to give in, a sickly retching sound grabs his attention and the boy spasms. Marcus hurries to prop him up, make sure the fluids get out instead of sticking in his throat, and watches in abject horror as water and bile spews out of the boy's mouth. For the next little while he is just coughing and spluttering, writhing in Marcus' firm grip. His chest heaves, shuddering, raspy breaths being drawn in and his eyes are wide with terror. Marcus has no idea what to do so he just keeps holding on, running a hand through the kid's hair, turned a muddy auburn from the water, and calling out what he hopes are encouraging words.

When the boy finally seems to grasp that he is still living, he wrenches himself from Marcus' grasp and scrabbles back until he hits the side of the boat. He pulls his knees up against his chest and his mouth opens and closes, gaping much like a fish out of water. He looks frightened beyond belief and Marcus doubts that he could speak even if he wanted to so soon after the trauma. He holds his hands out in what he hopes to be a non-threatening manner and attempts to get up. The kid watches him with wary eyes as Marcus gives him a wide berth and makes his way towards the captain's booth. It all looks as though it's going to go over well enough so he starts talking to the kid, making sure that he knows each move that Marcus is going to make before he does it- if he understands English that is. "I'm walking…. to the booth… big thing with glass." He gestures towards the box, feeling like an idiot, but noticing the way the kid focuses on his articulating hands. Once he makes it to the door he stops and straightens out his posture. He tries to give his best smile and gestures inside. "I'm going to radio for some help- get you to the hospital okay?"

Marcus turns his back, not thinking he would actually need to wait for an answer, but there's the sound of a scuffle behind him and as he looks back there is suddenly a mass of angry half-dead person hurtling at him. The boy hits him hard and he falls over, not at all prepared to be attacked. The boy is making raspy sounds at him, gibberish or a foreign language, he's not quite sure, but the message is clear. The fear on his face has intensified and he is flailing his arms wildly. Marcus puts his hands on the too skinny shoulders and tries to be soothing, "Okay, no help! No hospital."

The boy bites his lip and stops flailing, but continues to stare at Marcus imploringly. He moves his mouth experimentally, his tongue lolling about and his lips contorting for a bit before he seems to get a mite of confidence. He stares at Marcus intently, eyebrows furrowing and says quite seriously, "No people?"

"You can speak?!" Marcus can't keep the astonishment that is clear in his voice, but it doesn't seem to affect the boy at all, who is kneeling just in front of him, gripping Marcus' knees with a surprisingly tight hold and trying desperately to convey a sense of urgency.

"No people?!" He says it again and shakes Marcus' knees. "I can't- No people?!"

Marcus shakes his head back and forth rapidly despite his best instincts telling him this is beyond suspicious behavior. There is just something about this boy- something between them that he can't quite describe yet, but which inspires an oddly fierce kind of trust. It makes him want to do anything for him, and it sends shivers running down his spine. "No people." he says this firmly and is delighted when the boy seems to relax just a hair. "But we have to get you warm or it'll all be for nothing." The boy nods after a moment's hesitation and moves aside, seeming to take stock of himself for the first time. Strangely enough he pays no mind to the fact that he's completely naked, but instead spreads his fingers and toes, twisting them back and forth, marveling at some aspect he must find strange.

Marcus forces himself to look away and starts rooting around below deck for a spare jacket or maybe a blanket. When he finds a coat that's a bit greasy, but will serve his purposes well enough, he turns back to see the boy trying his best to walk on legs that are shaking and jerking. He looks like a brand new colt and for some reason it amuses him to no end. Before he can think to censor himself he lets out a harsh bark of laughter and the boy topples over in surprise. Marcus clamps a hand over his mouth quickly, but can't keep back the snorts that escape while his shoulders shake. The boy props himself up on his elbows and blows his ratty bangs out of his eyes all while glaring at Marcus, and though he acts offended he still accepts the jacket with a thankfulness in his eyes.

For a moment things are quiet and peaceful and Marcus finds himself smiling openly and easily, like he hasn't in quite some time. The boy ducks his head under the focus of it, and peers up at Marcus through his lashes, a bit of a flush finally beginning to tinge his cheeks. Marcus tries to laugh away the electric tension between them and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "What am I going to do with you?"

Seeming to be content with you for the moment, the large man moves back to the steering wheel for the ship and turns his back to you. The both of you sit in an oddly comfortable silence for a while and you stare out over the choppy grey waves that so recently threatened to swallow you whole. In one direction they are endless, stretching out into eternity; and in the other they are broken by lush, green land spotted with small homes and a hub of activity surrounding the bay.

You find that they are… calming. You think that this should bother you, that you should be frightened, or angry with the opaque waters, but they seem to call you back to their embrace. You shake it off for now and turn around to the man that saved you when he calls back at you, "So what should I call you then? Everybody's got a name, even people fished from the sea." He throws a look over his shoulder, seeming genuinely curious. " 'M Marcus. Most people around this place call me Circus, but I'd really appreciate it if you don't." The last remark seems to come with a certain edge of bitterness that you hadn't seen previously in him. It's very ill-suiting.

You mull things over for a second before answering and it still takes a few seconds to get the words to form right over your tongue, but he doesn't seem bothered by the wait. "Why do they call you Circus?" There is no hiding the thick accent that tinges your words, but you'll take what you can get.

He turns back to you, chewing the inside of his cheek and sniffs loudly, brushing the tip of his nose and turning his gaze towards his feet. "The people here- they think of me as a clown and the name stuck well enough… But the last time I checked we were talking about you."

This time it is your turn to look away and you hope that he does not mistake your shame for secrecy. "I don't remember." You pick at the sleeve of his over-sized jacket, fiddling with the buttons and investigating the pockets. But after a few silent moments, it is his complete and utter lack of response that gives you the courage to meet his gaze again.

"You've lost your memory to the waters. I've heard it happens, people hit their heads, have it all taken… Sometimes it comes back suddenly. Sometimes it doesn't- ever." He looks at you with something in between pity and sympathy before turning his eyes up and waving, "Morning!" You see another boat drift by through the window and throw yourself to the ground, instincts taking over. The sound of your scuffle makes Marcus jump, whipping around to see just what the hell you're doing. "Jesus! You really don't want people seeing you then."

With all the conviction you can muster, you steady your voice and answer back with a simple, "No. Nobody."

He smirks at that before saying, "Well what am I supposed to do then? Just disappear into thin air?"

"I don't mind seeing you," it comes out before you even had time to think about saying it, but you find it to be true all the same.

"Oh ya? And why is that exactly?"

"Because you were the one that fished me from the water," his jaw clenches at that and something in him seems to change, as though he's come to a decision.

"I've got to take you to a hospital. Who knows what kind of damage's been done to ya when you can't even remember your own name. I think you might have actually been dead for a few minutes." The boat makes a clear change of course and it has you panicking.

"If you won't leave me be, let me go then," you dash out of the captain's booth and head to the side of the ship, tossing aside the jacket and preparing yourself.

"Do you really want to drown?" He doesn't run after you, but the set of his shoulders, the line of his body, the glimmer in his eyes all seem to be imploring you not to go.

"I've died before, I can do it again."

"Or you can die once. For real this time."

You can feel your determination melting underneath his words, but somehow you _know_ that only bad things can come from seeing other people. "Please, I don't need a hospital."

He scratches at his face, and shifts from foot to foot and for a few tense moments you don't know which way he is going to go. "I know a place, where you'll be hidden, where people won't see you." He approaches you again and picks up the coat, placing it back on your shoulders. "C'mon."

Seagulls begin to dot the water as you draw closer to shore and slowly the boat is surrounded by the rock formations, a narrow break in the cliffs marking the only way in or out of the secluded cove that Marcus has sailed you into. Your heart clenches at the beauty of it, yellow wildflowers trailing along the dirt paths that wind their way up the shore and over the hills. A diving platform sits in the middle of the bay and a few stray formations make easy to swim to islands. A ramshackle house quietly looks over it all and the place seems as though it has been uninhabited for quite some time. You turn to Marcus, who is focusing on docking his ship, "Whose place is this?"

He grunts as he ties the boat in place and hops up onto the bobbing platform. "It used to be mine, until I moved closer to town." He offers you a hand up, but immediately after you have your footing he draws back and jams his hands in his pockets. "I'm a bit like you- a loner."

"Loner?" you turn the word over a few times in your mouth, but can't decide whether you like the way it tastes, or the way he says it.

"I don't like people…. much." When you enter the home he leaves the door open to air out the mustiness and immediately moves about clearing the modest space. Large windows sit on either side of the door and let the sunlight stream in freely. It is really just a single room, to the right side a couch, a small wood burning fireplace and a shelve of books. To the left sits a gas stove, a deep but narrow sink, a grimy refrigerator, and a table with two mismatched chairs. Directly across from the door an iron bed seems to be on its last leg and Marcus smiles sheepishly at you as he shakes out the not unsurprising amount of dust that has settled within the blankets that cover the mattress.

You offer a small smile in return and move to the only enclosed space, a door beckoning from beside the bookshelf. It creaks on its hinges and sticks a little at first, but when you get it open you can't contain the unexpected amount of happiness that surges through you. Just like the rest of the house, the bathroom is quaint and unassuming, but in the corner sits a large circular tub, looking comically oversized in the room. A shower head rises from the floor of the porcelain and connects to a ring of brass where a curtain would go. Right now it is bare, but that doesn't deter you as you step in and gingerly tweak at the knob that has a red ring around it.

Astonishingly warm water begins to cascade down and you toss the wet jacket off your shoulders and step into the stream, groaning as it runs down the planes of your back and begins to soothe the deep aches inside you. At the sound of it Marcus comes barreling in, but freezes up and flushes an impressive shade of red at the sight of you. "I-ah…. I-I suppose I'll leave you alone for now." He turns around quickly and rubs at the back of his neck again, a gesture that you are finding to be oddly endearing. "Will you be alright if I leave you here alone?"

It is odd to think, but at the suggestion of him leaving your heart falls a little and you are suddenly not as comfortable as before. "If you have to… I can manage." You are surprised at how small your voice sounds and you can tell Marcus noticed it too with the way that he half-turns towards you before taking a few steps away.

"Well, I do. I've got fish to sell- things to do."

"O-okay." At that he nods and begins to make his way out. "Marcus!" He stops just inside the doorway, but doesn't turn. "Thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

When Marcus finally makes it to the market with his meager catch, it has begun to rain and he takes a moment to let the drops run over his face. For a few seconds, he thinks himself crazy, like maybe he made the whole thing up in some sort of feverish state and perhaps the cold water will wake him from the dream, just like it does in the movies. But when he lets his head drop back from the clouds, and blinks the droplets from his eyes, he is still standing in the streets, several people staring at him and a few whispering behind their hands. With a put-upon sigh he crosses to the back of a sea-smelling building and goes in through the delivery bay.

Inside, Placidus is waiting for him with a clipboard and weary look upon his face. The young man had the local fish market left to him by his father and while it isn't exactly the most glamorous job, it is the biggest business in town, so he has it in his mind that he is somewhat of a big shot here. He is a skinny length of a man, with droopy brown hair and a thin face, but a quick tongue and a taste for others' humiliation. The cross that dangles from his neck is simple and seems at odds with his character, but the clashing combination is not an unusual one here.

If there were any other place Marcus could take his catch, he would, but as it stands he is forced to put up with Placidus on a daily basis. "Where the hell've you been Circus? Been waiting around for you all morning." Marcus grits his teeth as he places his catch up on a shiny, metal table and Placidus snickers at the collection of fish arranged in ice. "I see the fishing has been much of the same."

"Well, it was ordinary sort of day…" Marcus hedged but when Placidus just sucked at his teeth and shook his head, he couldn't keep himself from going on. "But when I was pulling in my nets, a strange sort of thing happened," though he knew that he should be stopping before he revealed anything, the stubborn pride in his chest pushed him forward. "I caught a boy in my nets, and breathed the life back into him."

"And?" Placidus fakes an uninterested stare at him from beneath his lashes, but there's a challenge in his voice, and his grip tightens on the clipboard before his foot starts tapping in impatience.

"A-and what?" Marcus felt his ears begin to burn and he briefly berated himself for his stupidity. No wonder they called him Circus.

"What was he?" Placidus stepped towards him with a subtly threatening grin and continued on. "A mermaid perhaps, or a selkie then! Oh yes, a seal man you saw singing on the rocks that shed his coat and came ashore to be with you until the sea calls him back." For a few moments Marcus is stunned into silence before Placidus lets out an ugly laugh and tears out the form for him to get paid, forcefully shoving it into his chest.

Marcus rips it from his hand and shoves it into his pockets, flustered and angry. "Well perhaps he is! He didn't have a coat but he sure as hell seemed to remember drowning," and with that he turned and fled from the ever curious, always judging stares.

When you find yourself alone, and finally begin to feel somewhat less like an alien in the creaky wooden shack, you begin to sing to yourself as you explore the foreign place, the words flowing across your tongue feel more natural than breathing and it fills you with a sense of belonging. In a trunk at the foot of the bed there's some old clothes, much too large for you since they once belonged to Marcus, but for now they will do. You pull out a red, knit sweater that is frayed at the ends and a ratty pair of jeans. You have to roll the bottoms several times to make a cuff, and the sleeves of the sweater are constantly sliding down around your hands, but they are comfortable and warm. Next you fish underneath the bed frame for a pair of boots that you noticed below and set about cleaning off the grime that covers them. They clunk about wildly on your feet, and for the moment you've forgotten just exactly how tying a shoe works, but you think it'll probably come back. Eventually.

Content with your clothing you begin to take stock of all the little things that are making this place feel like it could be your own, the trusty tea kettle that rests on the stove, looking well-used but still up for a decade or two more. The curtain of beads that has been tied back from the front door, the three different sets of wind chimes that tinkle on the porch, the lantern that hangs by the bed, the writing desk placed just beneath the kitchen window all make it feel as though a life is just waiting to be lived here.

And so you page through the yellowed books while you lounge on the couch. You find firewood put away in a chest out back and go about making a fire for the first time. At least you think it's the first. You grab a ceramic mug with a chip from the cupboards above the sink, white paint peeling back to reveal the warped wood beneath, and make yourself some tea, bravely swallowing down half the cup before admitting the leaves you found were bad and tossing the rest out the door.

When the rain comes you sit on the porch and sing with the _pitter patter_ rhythm of it, watching interestedly at the patterns it makes in the water far down the rocky shore laid out before you.

The next day Marcus starts just like the one before, heading out to the cove with his gear in tow and something less than a smile, but more than a frown on his face. Trudging along the dirt paths and wondering how many dismal fishing days in a row a man can have before he finally gives up the ghost, he almost forgets about what had happened.

Until he hears the singing.

As he makes his way across the small stone bridge that crosses a river which flows down the hill and into the sea, he spies the boy crouching near one of its narrower mouths, a bundle of wet fabrics by his side and one in his hands. As he scrubs and squeegees the dense garments he sings, the foreign words floating along the breeze, so ethereal in their sound it feels as though the ghost of them is sliding over Marcus' shoulder. Marcus pauses, only briefly to watch and listen before he clears his throat and calls down to him, "Still here?"

The boy looks up at him, grey-blue eyes shining in the morning light and there is something of a smile threatening to play over his lips. "You'd have thought me gone by now? A wandering gypsy perhaps?"

Marcus smirks before continuing on his way down, drawing closer as he shouts back in answer, "No. I thought I'd dreamt it. Dreamt you."

"You dreamed you saved me from the waters?" The boy hurriedly throws his clothes out flat over the ground and scurries to meet him as the paths to the different outlets meet.

Instead of answering Marcus looks him over as they continue to walk, the oversized clothes, untied boots, and greasy jacket certainly taking a bit of the wonderment out of him. "Those- those are my clothes." He receives a semi-panicked, apologetic glance and quickly tries to elaborate, "They don't really suit the dream… I'm kind of large. And awkward, not like you."

The boy snorts at that and makes a show of holding his arms out to keep his balance as the too-large boots wobble more and more as the path gets rockier and rockier. "I can be awkward." They finally make it down to the dock and Marcus begins to pull the boat in as the boy stands just behind him and watches intently. "Are you going fishing again?"

"Yes," Marcus grunts as the rope pulls taught and it takes a few hard tugs to get the boat floating in the right direction, "thought I might catch another…" The boy looks at him inquisitively and he uses _The Eagle_ as an excuse to delay his response, a truly idiotic idea forming in his head at the prompting of his own sarcastic quip. "Yes, thought I might catch another one of you. Maybe there's tons of them down there in the water…. I can get you a pretty girl to keep you company."

He waits in the pregnant silence for some kind of response, mouth drying with the thought that he might have overplayed his hand. The boy spends a few long moments studying the knots in the wood of the dock, kicking his feet at them with a pensive frown on his face. "I don't want a pretty girl… Can't I just come fishing with you?"

Marcus lets his head hang to allow himself a few seconds to compose himself, and not wanting to sound strangely eager he fishes for a response. "I thought you didn't want to be seen." When he turns back the boy at least has the decency to look sheepish at being caught in this, but while swinging his feet he can only come up with a shrug. "Okay then, get in."

As the boat pulls out of the cove and into the deeper waters, allowing Marcus to let it coast and focus on bringing up the cages with his potential catch, he finds that the boy has a fondness for leaning out over the sides, as though he would to throw himself over the edge at any moment. Though it makes him feel sad and a little worried, he can't deny that it's a strangely poetic relationship that boy has with the sea, and he remembers Placidus teasing about him having caught a mermaid. "So- that song you were singing. Did you remember that?"

The boy turns to him and offers only another shrug as his hair whips around his face in the wind. "I suppose I must have." The way that he says it makes it seem as though his memory, his past life is the furthest thing from his mind. It makes Marcus pause for a moment as he is bringing up the line.

"What about your name? I really must call you something," he tries to make it sound as nonchalant as possible, but he's never exactly been the type for furtiveness.

There's only a small amount of hesitance before the boy looks out to the sea and answers him. "You can call me Esca."

"That's… nice." Marcus hopes he sounds genuine, because while he's never really had a way with words, he truly thinks it fits- Esca. It is unusual and mysterious and maybe even a little bit wild. "What does it mean?"

"Put simply? It comes from an old Gaelic word for river or water, but is used to describe those with an affinity for nature." Esca looks wistful as he turns back to the water and lets Marcus dwell on it. Marcus thinks to himself that now the image has come full circle, the boy from the water seems so surreally to be born of it, a citizen of its depths. The idea seems truly absurd, but Marcus can't shake the feeling that there is something about Esca, something that's different and… magical.

He can't help but smile at the thought of something so miraculous happening to him of all people. Boring old Circus the clown with his empty nets, empty head, and emptier home. Esca begins to sing again at the lull in conversation and Marcus finds the sound of it instantly soothing. Every time it is the same song, and though Marcus cannot understand the words, the pull of Esca's voice, the lilt of the tune is enough for him to know what it must be about. It seems sad, but beautiful, like watching a maiden dressed in the purest of whites dive from up on high into the thrashing grey waters. It suits Esca and just as Marcus is about to shut his eyes, succumb to the draw of it, the last of his cages comes out of the water and over the side of the boat- with a lobster in it. "My God… You've got to be playing games with me, what did you just do?"

Esca stops abruptly and wanders over to him, confusion clear on his face and defensiveness to his stance. "I didn't _do _anything! I- I just sang." Esca's brow knits and he jams his hands in the pockets of the greasy jacket he's still struggling to keep on.

"I know. I just-" Marcus chews the inside of his cheek and moves on to another line further down, pulling up more empty pots and feeling his frustration growing. "Come over here would ya? A-and… sing for me again." Esca doesn't seem as put-off by his irrational behavior as Marcus thinks that he should, but then he supposes that that can only be good for him. Esca comes to stand by his side and leans over the edge of the boat, looking down deep into the waters, as though he can read the ebb and flow of them in a way that no one else can, and starts up again. The next cage that emerges has a lobster crawling about the bottom, the next- two, the next- three, and then Marcus stops pulling them in. "You- you bring me luck."

"Luck?" Esca looks as though he is about ready to bounce up and down at the way that Marcus is marveling at him, and the boy flashes a grin before moving to examine the lobsters pinching at their newfound confinement, crouching so that he can poke at them with only a small bit of trepidation. "Everybody needs luck!" and though it isn't spoken as a question, Marcus can hear all that is implied in the sentence.

"I know everybody needs luck, but not everybody gets it." Esca looks up at him then and there is a sort of understanding that passes between them. They share in the quiet of the moment before Marcus remembers what it was he was doing and goes to get the lobsters ready to sell at the market. He teaches Esca how to hold them between your legs so that you can tie their pincers closed and shows him which ones to keep and which ones to throw back in the pots for a rainy day. The boy spends the day eagerly flitting about him as he works, asking questions and helping whenever Marcus will let him and for the first time in a long time Marcus is enjoying the day and going about his work with an enthusiasm that has been absent for far too long.

"Y'know, we'll get something awful nice for these." Marcus comments when they are back on land and he has a bin full of shellfish tucked underneath his arm.

"We?"

"Ya, you'll get a share of the profits. After all you did do some singing and such." Marcus smirks as Esca bats at his shoulder and runs up ahead of him to put the gate of Marcus' rickety blue truck down. Marcus gratefully hauls the bin up onto the bed and rubs his hands together as he contemplates all the things he could get with this extra bit of cash he hasn't seen in quite some time. "Come sell them at the market with me and we can pick you up some things in town." His heart leaps at the thought of walking around town with Esca, pointing out all the local shops and finally having someone else for them to direct their stares towards. He even crosses over to the passenger side of the car and opens up the door, standing aside to let Esca climb in.

But the second the words slip out of his mouth, the boy freezes up and the light behind his eyes dims a little as he begins to back down the hill, towards the shack. "I don't want to meet anyone…." He shakes his head and holds his hands up in the air as he begins to turn around.

Marcus can't help the flare of frustration that rises up in him and he slams the door closed with a scowl. "Well you've met me! What am I exactly? A nobody?"

"You're the only one…" Esca calls behind him, but doesn't make to turn around, just continuing on his way down. Marcus feels as though there was something left unsaid there- a piece that was missing, but even without it, the words sink in deep and soothe the hurt inside him. Just like the song seemed to bring him clarity before, these words, though almost meaningless, bring a sense of acceptance to him and he watches Esca until the boy reaches the house before turning to get into the car.


	3. Chapter 3

Marcus turns in his catch with a minimum of snark from Placidus this time, but a whole lot of wary stares and upturned noses. If one person is doing as well as he did today in this small of a town, it probably means the rest of the fishermen will be coming in with meager hauls. Marcus makes a point of staying away from the more popular fishing areas, tries to keep out of the locals' way, but it won't stop them from scowling at his oh-so-rare good fortune. He doesn't pay them any mind as he takes his slip to get cashed and then heads out to buy some much needed essentials.

His first stop is to get some new boots- the ones currently clunking about on his feet are so worn they look as though they've been passed down through the family for generations, even the laces having been replaced with a hearty twine a few weeks ago. There're only two clothing shops in town, one across the street from the other. The first sells exclusively to ladies, though the fashions that occupy the window are years out of date, and the other sells to the men of the town; the entirety of it populated by muted greens, greys, and navy blues.

Marcus tosses his old boots in the bin outside before he enters, eyeing the hole in one of his tattered socks just big enough to let his first toe poke out and makes a mental note to get a new pack while he's at it. Looking for something his size, not really caring about many other details, he is hit with the image of Esca, drowning in Marcus' old clothes and still wearing that greasy old jacket. He stuffs a shoebox under his arm and heads over to the smaller sizes of clothes, feeling foolish as he tries to guess what Esca might like, or what might look good on him. He picks out random things, ranging in colors and fabrics, before strolling to the counter to pay. When he drops his things near the cash register and fishes out his wallet, the cashier gives him a strange look and hesitates before ringing him up. "These'll never fit ya Circus, can't you see that?"

"Uhh…" Marcus wipes at his mouth, looking anywhere but at the shop keep and fidgeting. "They're-ah not for me." He grimaces as the man shrugs his shoulders and continues on, tossing everything in a few plastic bags.

"Who's it for then?"

"I-ah… a boy. A boy that I fished from the waters." The man gives an exasperated huff, apparently chalking this off as just one more thing the town fool has got stuck in his head. Marcus is thankful that Esca's story is just absurd enough to cover for him, never being very good at lying, he would've outed the kid in a day if it were otherwise.

You've been trying to figure out your shoelaces for the last twenty minutes when you hear the grind of gravel and the sputtering of a motor outside. Your first instinct is to run or maybe even hide, but you force yourself to take a few deep breaths and stay in the chair. You turn your focus back to the boots as you hear a car door slam and footsteps as Marcus begins his descent. The laces take all your concentration as you knot them every way but the correct one, and unconsciously you find your tongue sticking out the corner of your mouth whenever that happens. Marcus clomps his way through the door and hefts some bags up on the dining table, immediately moving to unpack them without even looking your way. "I got you some…. things."

"Things?" You look up from your task as he pulls some groceries out of a few brown paper bags, but hesitates over the lumps in the plastic ones.

"Necessities. And stuff. Even boys from the water need to eat, right? Need clothes-" He finally looks over at you, with your feet up on the chair in front of you, sleeves pushed up into your armpits, tongue stuck out and hair mussed. It must be a silly sight, because his face changes, but it looks as though he's holding something back, and it has you confused. He taps an open palm across his other hand, which is closed into a fist, and takes a few stuttering steps forward before coming over to kneel beside you. "- need to… tie their shoelaces." He pushes the ever present knit cap back and off his head before reaching down and slowly tying the strings, pausing occasionally and looking up at you- waiting until you nod in confirmation before moving on.

"I'm not a kid you know." You're not sure why you felt the need to tell him that, but somehow it seemed important that he didn't look at you like a child. You blush at the confused look that crosses his face afterwards, and tug your sleeves back down over your hands, fiddling with the frayed edges as he finishes the second boot and moves to stand up, brushing some of the dirt from his knees.

"And how do you know that? Can't even tie your own shoelaces." The last part is framed as a joke, but it has a knot of embarrassment forming in your stomach and you hop up and cross over to his side, watching as he unpacks a bunch of clothes with a sidelong glance.

"Well, I don't really remember how old I was… am." You shuffle through the bland, but well-made clothes and search for the right words. "But I just don't _feel_ like a kid. I- I'm… weary." Marcus frowns at that, looking like he wants to give you a hug, but grabs some things and sticks them in the refrigerator instead, ducking his head inside and staying there for a moment longer than needed.

When he pulls back out, he turns to you with something close to a smile on his face and blatantly changes the topic, "Did anything strange or wonderful go on while I was away?" You are thankful for the rescue from the awkward situation and find the lack of subtlety to be somewhat endearing, though you do roll your eyes at him.

"Why do you ask that?"

"I dunno." Marcus lets out a genuine smile as he thinks on it, turning around and leaning back against the counter, hands gripping the edges. "I guess it's a kind of wish- that something strange or wonderful might happen." His dopey grin is lopsided when he finishes and it has you smiling yourself, though you suddenly find your feet really quite interesting and share the expression with them instead of Marcus. You ponder it a moment, wishing you could give him an interesting answer, but knowing full well you did nothing but spend the day reading and swimming around the cove- two things you actually do remember how to do. So instead of giving him an answer, you push up onto your tip-toes and kiss him on the cheek. If you linger a moment longer than is acceptable, neither of you say anything. Marcus twiddles with the things on the table before clearing his throat and grabbing his keys.

"Thank you." It's almost a whisper when it comes out, but you know that he heard it even though he keeps walking, hands in his pockets. Almost as an afterthought, you call out to him before he makes it through the door. "Can I- can I clean up this place?"

He pauses in the doorframe and looks back at you, still clutching one of the sweaters he bought in front of you like a kind of shield. "I suppose." He steps down off of the porch and looks out over the sea for a few seconds before walking over to the open window and bracing himself against the sill. "How long are you staying?" He brushes at his nose and surveys the little place that you had begun to tidy, but made sure to keep everything just as it was before.

"That depends I guess…"

"On what?"

"On you." This comes out even quieter than the thank you and you shift awkwardly from foot to foot, still in the same place as before.

Marcus purses his lips at that and wrings his hands. "On me… If it depends on me you can stay forever." There's no hint of sarcasm or joke in his tone of voice this time and it catches you off guard, so you stay silent. "Forever, happily ever after, once upon a time." He chuckles and looks away before nodding, as though he was confirming this information with himself. "Just like a fairy tale." And with that he pats the window sill, and just noticing he still has the sweater clenched in his hands, tosses it back inside before hiking up to his truck.

Marcus doesn't want to admit that he's at the local library for anything more than curiosity's sake, but there's just something about Esca that is nagging at the back of his head. When he enters the librarian waves politely and offers a smile, no doubt happy to see him here for the first time in a long time. "What're you up to Circus? Been thinking you need to catch up on your reading?" Her name is Cottia and she's the only person in town that treats him decently, though she does carry an air of superiority around her due to the fact that she has degrees in a wide range of subjects, ranging from cultural mythology to marine biology.

She's one of the few people in this place with a genuine education in addition to her steadfast faith and she's always working hard to add even more to her resume. She never lets anyone forget it. "I think that's not my name." Marcus knows she means nothing by it- he's even found himself replacing his name with Circus from time to time. Y'know, if people say it long enough you start to believe it yourself. It doesn't take long for him to find what he's looking for- the library having the same square footage as any other establishment in the town, which is to say, not much. He examines the titles of the books for a few moments, the majority of the spines damaged or fading, but gives it up for scooping the lot into his arms and carrying them over to the checkout desk.

Cottia arches an eyebrow at the collection, but starts scanning them with only a slight eye roll. "So what's the story?"

"The story?" Marcus shoves his hands deep into his pockets and shifts from foot to foot as she takes her sweet time stamping the due date into each and every book, reading the titles aloud.

"_Legends of the Selkie… Seal Morning… Foreign Tales of Merfolk…. _" She lets the unasked question hang in the air, keeping a firm hold on his stack of books, though she's already finished.

"I'm-ah… researching." He thinks maybe this will appeal to her, that she'll understand. She's always doing research for some report or another.

"Researching for what exactly?"

"A-uh. A story, just like you said." He thinks maybe, just maybe she'll leave it at that, but after a few more seconds of awkward silence and still no move to hand him his books, he gives up with a tired sigh. "Well, once upon a time-" Cottia snorts and steeples her fingers, settling back into her chair like this is going to be the most entertaining thing she's seen all day. "What? That's how stories begin…." He wrings his hands and frowns, desperately trying to think up something that might sound believable, but he's just a bit too tired of everything today so he just lets it all out.

"It-uh…. It was a good time- and it was a bad time. There was a fisherman, and one day he was pulling in his nets when something heavy made them snag. It had been a long day and he was just about ready to give up, but at the possibility of a catch he pulled them in one last time. And…. he had caught a boy- fished him right out of the sea. He seemed to remember drowning, but not much else.

"So the fisherman, he hid the boy away from everyone, scared for him, because of him. But the fisherman took care of the boy, and in return, he sang. The boy from the net sang, his voice pure as the water he came from, but in a language the fisherman had never heard, mysterious as the sea's depths.

"He sings to the fish, and the fisherman catches them…. And, he looks human, but the fisherman, he can't be sure." Marcus finishes with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at Cottia.

But when he finally does, she is wearing this expression, somewhere between disbelief and awe, but there's something else there too. Maybe a kind of sad sheen to her eyes, but it is gone in a blink, and then she is clearing her throat, sitting back up straight, and pushing forward his books.


	4. Chapter 4

Marcus is just heading out into the open waters for the day, deciding perhaps a morning away from Esca might clear up his head, give him some room to think, but at the absence of the boy's presence he finds the idea of a day fishing in complete and utter silence… daunting. He doesn't do so well when he's alone, gets to thinking. Thinking about his absentee father, his dead mother, his own darkness. So he kills the engine, lowers the rescue boat, climbs in, and drops it into the water. The motor on this boat is much smaller and so it takes longer than usual to get back to the edge of the cove. He slows as he approaches the diving platform, Esca sunning on top of it, hair plastered across his forehead and clothes damp. "Do you want to come again? Fishing I mean?" There's no denying the hopefulness in his voice, and the two of them both recognize it, so Marcus ducks his head, and clears his throat. "Only if you want to though."

"You promise I'll see nobody but you?" Esca starts to stand even before he gets an answer, following Marcus with his eyes as the boat circles the wooden platform.

"I promise you'll see _nobody_ but me." There's a conviction and a bit of possessiveness there that has Esca smiling. "You went swimming in those clothes?" Marcus can't help but notice the way that the fabrics stick to Esca's lithe frame and how the color and shine of the pants almost make it seem as though he's got a tail. He blushes at the low pit of heat that it makes form in his stomach.

"They were a gift." Esca brushes his hair away with the tips of his fingers and has the decency to look a little bashful. "They were given to me by a surly fisherman. All beauty, little brains." There's a twinkle of mischief in his eyes at that and Marcus' throat has suddenly gone dry. He extends his hand to steady Esca as the small boy steps into his boat. They share a comfortable silence on the ride back to _The Eagle_, exchanging occasional glances. Once the main boat has made it out to open waters, Esca is once again eager to learn more, do more. "Can I help? What can I do?" It makes Marcus chuckle at his eagerness.

Marcus steps away from manning the net and towards the captain's booth where Esca is leaning over the edge, arm outstretched to catch the stray splashes of water that come high up the sides. "You can man the tiller." He wraps and arm around Esca's shoulders and ushers him into the booth, showing him the wheel. "Just-ah stay true, right out to sea." He smiles when Esca nods, quaking a bit with excitement. Just then, the whir of a motor rises up over the sound of the waves and the pulleys bringing in the net. A bright orange inflatable raft whizzes by with a handful of men in uniforms, watching the waters intensely and Esca drops to the floor the second the sound hits his ears. "Keep 'er steady would you? That's a fisheries boat. Wouldn't want to draw their attention." Marcus doesn't notice that Esca is no longer standing yet, and so Esca stretches out a leg, feet still bare from swimming, and starts to steer _The Eagle_ with his toes instead. But as the boat passes by, Marcus follows it with is eyes and eventually his gaze comes to rest on Esca, crumpled in the space beside the wheel, trying to keep the bashful smile off his face. Marcus steps away from the nets again and stands in the doorway of the cabin, "You… can't really guide a boat with your foot."

"I'm not doing well?" Esca's tone is teasing, a wry smirk fighting its way onto his lips, that mischievous glint in his eyes again. Marcus just shakes his head and wipes at the goofy grin on his face. They share a moment of silence before Esca starts to sing again, his voice filling up the small space and sending shivers down Marcus's spine. The way the words float out of his mouth, brushing up against his skin as though they are just this side of tangible, it has this ethereal quality to it that Marcus has never experienced before.

He clears his throat a little too loudly when he realizes that he's been staring and accidentally cuts Esca off. He blushes when he realizes this, but has nothing in mind to actually say. "So… uh. Did you ever take lessons? I mean- do you think you used to be a singer?" Marcus winces at the fact that he brought up Esca's memory loss again, but figures at least it seemed like a half-way valid question.

"I-I don't think so. I guess I could have, but it doesn't… feel like it." Esca shrugs at that and turn his attention to the wheel, brows furrowed and looking deep in thought. "That's all I get- these impressions that don't mean much now, but they could I think." He frowns a little and pulls his sleeves down over his hands, something Marcus has noticed he does whenever he's feeling vulnerable. "What about you though? Somehow I don't imagine you always wanted to be a fisherman your whole life?"

Marcus knew this would come up eventually, and he knows that he can't exactly deny Esca such an innocent question, but he'd been hoping this just wouldn't ever arise in conversation, or when it did that he'd be more prepared. "Well-ah… This wasn't exactly… the plan, y'know?" Marcus takes a sudden interest in the floor, wanting to get away from Esca's bright, inquisitive stare. "I had wanted to open my own restaurant…. Grow my own vegetables, serve the fish I had caught just that morning- places like that were really big where I came from. I would be my own boss, make my own way." He wrings his hands and takes a moment to arrange exactly what he wants to say next, it could be very important just how he gives out this information.

"So… I took what I had in savings, got the shack in the cove and this boat. It took all I had, but I figured I'd live on fishing for a while, put away what I could, I'd get there eventually. It didn't matter how long- just that I got there. I convinced myself that if I could make it happen, that everything would be good again, that I'd be happy and everything else would fall into place. But the people here- they didn't care much for my ideas, the little dream I had for myself. They didn't care much for me, my… kind." He rubs at the back of his neck then and turns his back on the boy, looking out over the waves.

He can hear Esca stand and pad over behind him, but is still surprised by his proximity when he speaks. "Your… kind?"

Marcus crosses his arms and takes a deep breath, but decides to just get on with it. "This town… it's just like any small community you'd imagine. They're all very tight-knit, fond of and dependent on one another- so they can be inclusive. They're very religious and… old-fashioned. And I-uh… I'm gay. And they don't like that, picture me as some kind of blight or something, a weed in their righteous garden." He makes a point of walking away from Esca, brave enough to say the words, but not to turn and see the kid's reaction. "So they made sure to make it damn near impossible to rent out a space, get things cleared by all the right boards and organizations, and now here I am. The foreign fool who refuses to go, but has no place to stay. A circus of clowns."

"I guess they wouldn't think much of me either then." Esca's voice is quiet, quavering just a little, but completely open. It makes a lump form in Marcus' throat and he doesn't know what to say or do. But Esca just starts to sing again as he goes back to the booth and starts to steer, this time with his hands. Marcus is thankful for his quiet understanding and is content to just spend the rest of the day lost in his siren song until the pulleys start to grind and click angrily.

"Oh shit!" He goes to bring the nets up and smiles a little at the soft sniggering he can hear coming from Esca. When they start to breach the water he can't hold back the exclamations that he breathes out, seeing the ropes filled with an undulating throng of fish, still writhing with the water that is pouring out the sides. "Would you look at that! Salmon, that's weird. You don't catch salmon trawling, only with a gill net." He hurries over to untie the net when he looks back over at Esca, shaking his head at that declaration, and just then remembers all that probably sounds like gibberish to him.

Esca steps closer to get a look at the fish as the bottom of the net finally comes undone and they all spill out onto the floor. "Hmm, how strange…" He grins at Marcus, looking like the bird that caught the worm. He stoops over to watch as some of the fish flounder violently, still trying valiantly to win back their lives.

"Yes… how funny. It's as though something drew them into my nets… " Marcus' voice is lightly suspicious, but only playfully so. He keeps a wary eye on Esca, making the other boy laugh when he makes a show of giving him a wide berth and obviously questioning glances as he goes about putting the fish in crates and on ice. Seagulls are crying above them, a whole flock circling to see if they can pick off the haul that just came in. Their moment of peace is broken though when the familiar sound of the fisheries' raft comes back into earshot, drawn by the sight of the large group of birds. "Ah! Fuck." Marcus swears with a hint of venom that Esca hasn't seen before and it takes him by surprise. "They're going to come on board."

Esca's eyes go wide, the lively attitude gone in an instant. Trying to think up something, Marcus starts to chew his lip and searches out the boat, gauging how much time they have before the officials arrive. But when he turns back to try and form a plan with the boy, he is gone. This sends a sharp jolt of panic through Marcus' stomach and though he feels like running around the boat searching Esca out, he knows that would only be counterproductive.

Instead he just continues on, trying to look nonchalant as the fisheries draw closer and closer, until they pull up next to him and offer out their hands for help boarding. Marcus obliges with the friendliest smile he can manage at this point and once they're in, stands off to the side with his arms crossed. "I see you've caught yerself some salmon." The two men on board have picked up a fish and are examining it with a dark eye turned towards Marcus. "How'd you catch them?"

Marcus leans back against the rails and tries his best not to sound indignant when he answers. "Trawling." He thinks for now it's best if he keeps things short and simple, give himself less rope to hang himself with.

"You really expect us to believe that?" The two of them scoff and share a look, amused with his 'antics'.

"No, but it's true."

"Oh sure, sure." One of them nods while the other gives him a patronizing smile. "And where's your gill nets?"

Marcus clenches his jaw, but manages to keep the snarl out of his voice. "Under the hull."

The fisheries move to the raised platform in the center of the boat and bend down to lift the door to the compartment, grunting in unison as it sticks before coming up. One bends down and starts to withdraw the green netting that's been wadded up and stored down below. "That's-uh…." They pause for a moment and look at the netting in their hands with disbelief. "That's not wet."

"I know!" This time there is a thread of impatience that comes through, but right now the men are too flabbergasted to take notice. "I told you I didn't use it."

They continue to pull at the nets, probably hoping to find a wet bunch he'd hidden at the bottom, but suddenly they stop and share an even more shocked look than before. "There's…. there's a boy here Circus! There's a boy. In your net." An awkward silence follows, Esca staring up into the faces of the men who are staring right back, looking for all the world like he just might be some creature from the sea.

"I-ah… is that illegal?" Marcus pulls at his ear and tries to act normal as the two of them continue to analyze Esca.

"No… but it's unusual."

"You can see him?" Marcus is a little embarrassed at the incredulous tone of his voice, and is momentarily thankful that Esca can't see him standing off to the side. He hadn't been kidding when he said he'd thought Esca might be a dream. It wouldn't have surprised him anyway. "Well-uh… Ask him how I caught the salmon then." Marcus nods sharply in Esca's direction.

They simply arch their eyebrows in question at Esca, sitting at the bottom of the compartment, arms raised just above his head as though to defend himself, and eyes squinting at the harsh light. "Trawling."

"And you expect us to believe in these fairy tales?"

Esca licks his lips before nodding eagerly. "Yes."

"Well then…" Marcus leaves it open, the meaning clearly implied. The men take one last look at Esca before they decide it's not worth the effort to argue and place the door back down, moving to get back on their boat and ignoring the blatantly smug smile on Marcus' face. Marcus can't help but chuckle and put a little bit of a skip in his step at they drive off and he heads over to the hull door. When he lifts it, Esca is staring into space, eyes trained on the nets that are tangled around his legs. "So… they saw you. Is that alright?"

"No." Esca's eyes are watery, but he's holding back the tears with everything he's got, which leaves little strength for anything else. He just continues to stare and look forlorn.

"Well, it's a relief in a way, a load off of my mind." Marcus feels sympathetic for the boy, chest tightening at the sudden onset of fear that is clear in his eyes. He tries to keep the relief out of his voice, but it's difficult. For the first time in a long time, he's not going to be alone and he'll no longer have to worry that Esca's nothing but a fever-dream, an illusion created by his mind to keep him from going insane.

"It means they'll talk."

"… of course they will, they've got nothing else to talk about." Marcus tries for a joke, anything to put that easy smile back on Esca's face.

Esca swallows heavily before he finally looks up, startled by the raucous of Marcus fetching the ladder for him to climb out. "What will they say?"

"Take your pick. Circus, clowns, salmon, a boy from the water… I'm going to the harbor. Do you want me to drop you off?" Now that Esca has finally been seen, Marcus can't help but want to share the town with someone, _finally_ feel as though he's not swimming against the current, but in Esca's fragile state he wouldn't force the boy on any unwanted company. He offers his hand, but has to shake it in front of Esca's eyes a few times before the boy twitches back to life and starts to move.

"It's done isn't it? I've been seen." The declaration comes out breathy and frightened, but he takes Marcus' hand and starts to pull himself out and up regardless. Esca sits on the rails for the rest of the ride in, watching with wary eyes, equal parts fascinated and scared as buildings start to dot the hills and more and more boats start to populate the waters. Eventually they make it to the public docks, slowing down considerably, and the boy visibly withers under the stares of all the other fishermen watching from the much larger ships.

They all stop what they're doing the second Marcus' ship comes into view, and walk up to the bow, staring over the railing without any sense of shame. "It's a small town, everybody stares." Marcus grimaces back at Esca and tries to give a consoling look.

"You can say that again." Esca seems to have shrunk into himself, looking more like a boy than ever before and it has Marcus worrying despite the way things have turned towards the better for him, and this still seems like a win in his mind, seeing as how he was never quite sure why Esca didn't want to be seen in the first place.

"What's wrong with being seen, exactly?"

"Nothing!" Esca's answer is clipped and sharp as a knife, but Marcus thinks the boy sensed his own harshness because of the attempt at a soft smile that follows. His lips quiver, but the effort is still appreciated. "-when you look good." He seems to add this as an afterthought before turning away again.

"Well you look… you'll be just dandy." Marcus flushes at his inability to pay even the smallest compliment, but Esca seems to catch on anyway and spends the rest of the ride in kicking at the floor with a small smile on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Though Marcus isn't really keen on leaving Esca alone with the townspeople, pointing and staring as though the two of them are carnival oddities, he knows that having him around while Placidus checks and marks up his catch would be even worse. That man has a cruelty not to be taken lightly. So he asks the boy to wait for him out front of the market while he takes the crates of salmon round back.

Esca's stare is eerily vacant when he turns at the sound of Marcus' voice, but still he nods his head and leans up against the hood of the truck when the both of them climb out. Marcus wishes the circumstances were different, wishes he could have thought of something to do when the fisheries came aboard, but the time for that has passed and now he is just trying to do the best that he can with the situation that's been given.

When he walks through the loading bay doors he can already tell by the look on Placidus' face that he's heard the commotion around town, maybe even gone out front and taken a look at Esca through the windows of the market. Marcus slows his steps, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever might come, because he knows that if anyone's going to have something to say about it, it's going to be Placidus.

There is only silence between them while Marcus hauls in the first two or three crates, like the calm before the storm, and it has his nerves frayed and on edge. For a moment he convinces himself that the sour man isn't going to say anything, perhaps rendered speechless by shock or just too tired to squabble for once. But as he's bringing in the last batch, waiting for his slip to be filled, the inevitable quips come. "So, where's he sleep then? Your water baby?" There is so much implied in that question that is left unsaid, communicated through the snide tone, the huff of derision, the slight snarl of disgust that twists his face.

Marcus doesn't deign to give an answer, hoping to just get out of here before he does something that he knows he'll regret. He knows that under stressful situations his emotions tend to lash out, swinging in wildly different directions. Sometimes he gets physical, sometimes he drinks himself to oblivion, and one time he even walked into the sea. Unlike Esca the cold had shocked his senses and made him wade back to shore, but for a moment the question as to why the boy was there in the first place didn't seem so mysterious.

"The two of you gonna go diving for pearls eh?" Placidus makes an ugly snort at his own joke as he tears the form from his pad, but holds it back from Marcus' outstretched and expectant hand. "What kind of stories have you been spinning Circus?" Marcus rips the slip from his hand and gets out of the place as fast as he can without actually looking like he's running. Esca is still out there waiting, looking a bit more in control than he was before though it takes a second to grab his attention.

"Can I-uh… Can I buy you something? A gift- to apologize for getting you discovered?" Marcus still felt a little guilty about the relief that coursed through his veins when Esca was finally found out, and he hopes that the other man could sense that.

Esca only shrugs his shoulders in response, but there's a skip to his step when he pushes off from the truck and starts heading down the street, taking off in a random direction and peering at the window displays of all the various shops. Marcus hurriedly shucks the grimier layers of his clothing and throws them into the truck bed before trotting down the sidewalk to keep up with the other boy. They wander in silence for a small while, enjoying each other's' company without needing words. Eventually Esca finds his way into an antique shop of sorts, wandering through the displays all arranged by color.

There's knick-knacks of all sorts, from furniture to kitchen equipment, from yard decorations to vintage cameras and typewriters. He seems to be utterly fascinated by nearly every object his fingers slide over, a kind of awe coloring each of his movements. Marcus thinks they might be in there for hours, spend the whole afternoon bathed in a foreign sense of nostalgia, but he finds it strange to discover that he really doesn't mind. He'd never been one for spending his days at the shops, but seeing the wonder in Esca's eyes makes it all worth it to him.

When they reach the last section, an assortment of things white and grey, Esca stops in front of a weathered and wobbly vanity, the edges of its paint turned copper with age. His fingers slowly slide over the surface of it, catching on the knots of the wood, and for a moment Marcus thinks that this might be what he's set his eye on.

But then he pulls forward a small box that had been tucked away behind a rack of earrings and necklaces. It's a muted blue-grey, an ornate iron clasp set into the face and a simple seashell carved into its lid. Esca carefully lifts it and turns it over and over in his hands, noting the small hole in the back and the key tied round one of its legs, making it a music box. Throwing an excited glance Marcus' way, he fits the key in its slot and winds the gears three times before pulling it out, and with only a slight stutter of anticipation lifts the lid.

But no song comes out.

A small brass bird sits in the center of the wood, raised up on a pedestal and Esca's fingers caress its small face with a surprising amount of tenderness. Disappointment is clear on his face for a few seconds, but calmly he closes it back up and tucks it under his arm with a small smile. He walks over to Marcus with a bashful look in his eye and gestures to the little treasure. "Might I…?" He trails off as he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and plays with the hem of his shirt.

Marcus feels as though he might be a little too pleased with the fact that he gets to buy the boy a present, but doesn't think on it as he throws an arm around Esca's shoulders and leads him over to the cash register.

You are swimming laps, out to the diving platform and back, when you hear the tell-tale clatter of rocks that means someone is coming down the shore. But these steps are different- not the lumbering footfalls that usually accompany Marcus, and so instead of completely resurfacing the next time that your surge out of the water to complete a butterfly stroke, you only allow the top of your head to break through, breathing through your nose while your mouth is still below. You wipe the water from your eyes as a self-assured looking woman stops just before the spot where waves touch the shore. She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head minutely. "Curiouser and curiouser…"

You can't help yourself as your interest in her outweighs the inherent fear of being seen, so you stand so that your shoulders are exposed, allowing you to talk. "What's that?"

"What Alice said to the White Rabbit." The lady says it as though it is common information, and you wonder whether this is really another commonplace thing that you have forgotten or if she fancies herself smarter than you. From the way that she arches her brow and taps her foot at your delay in response, it is probably the latter, but you don't voice that opinion.

"Come again…"

She only acts a little irritated as she slows down her speech and leans forward as though you are hard of hearing. "Curiouser and…."

"Curiouser." You finish, liking the way that word tastes on your tongue.

She smirks as she repositions the weight of her hips and bends a knee, appearing to make herself more comfortable. "Marcus is such a terrible liar. That story he told me was crap, and once the townsfolk started gossiping… I knew you were real."

"I was real?" This woman- something about her puts you at ease, but that in turn makes you uncomfortable and you haven't quite decided how to deal with that yet.

"Yes. I knew it wasn't a story." She puts her tongue in her cheek and shakes her head again, turning away from you for just a second to look back at the hill, you think to make sure that the two of you are alone.

"What wasn't a story?" Now you are thoroughly confused, and feeling a bit vulnerable in the water, you start to wade back on shore, taking it slow and keeping a wary eye on the woman. The grey pants that you wore in the water stick tight to your skin and shimmer with the sun that so rarely peeks out here, but you don't move to peel them away.

"The fisherman, the boy in the net- Marcus told me a story about you." It hadn't registered the first time, but now that she's mentioned it again, you realize that she knows Marcus, seems to be friendly with him. You don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing yet though. Still, if she is a friend to him, you don't want to be off-putting or offensive. She could mean something to him. "So… do you have magic powers?" She manages to sound like she's making fun of him, but genuinely interested at the same time.

"Do you?" You finally break the water completely and as you come near her, you give her a bit of a berth, circling as you walk by to make sure that you can still see here, even if you have to have your back to the hill.

"You already know that I don't!" She scoffs and turns with you, stepping forward to keep you within arm's reach.

"What's your name?" You think that maybe, with a name, she wouldn't seem so ominous, as overwhelmingly ahead of the game as she does now.

"Cottia." Is all she offers you, but there's a hint of sweetness underneath it.

Slowly, carefully, you extend your hand. "I'm Esca."

She takes your hand, but instead of shaking it, begins to trace your slender fingers, holding your palm up to the light and twisting your arm this way and that. A small smile slips over her lips at the way your face scrunches up in confusion and she leans towards you to whisper conspiratorially. "I'm examining you for webbed appendages."

"Well?" She releases your hand, but continues to stare. "Do I disappoint you?"

She ignores you as you start walking backwards again, "You got lost did you?"

You're not sure why, but your heart begins to beat a little faster at this and you pick up a little speed, suddenly desperate to get back into the shack that is now starting to feel like home. "Yes, I suppose I did get lost."

"Are you cold?" Her tone is friendly, but there's this gleam in her eyes that's a bit too clever for your liking.

"Yes. Suddenly." You give up the ghost and turn, basically fleeing towards the house.

"That's because you're on land now. Your natural habitat is in the water you see." This time there is nothing but seriousness in her voice and you find it disconcerting.

"You seem to know a lot about me." You say this to further the conversation without actually admitting to anything.

"Yes, well…. I read."

You try to keep up some semblance of calm, even though your voice is a bit thin with panic. "Would you like to come inside?" You feel much safer inside the shack's familiar confines- no longer in the open- but you don't yet have a valid excuse for being such a recluse.

She quirks her lips and goes back to her playful-almost serious voice. "I can't walk across the threshold or you'll put a hex on me."

"What's a hex?" You haven't decided if you like her moxie or not but she's definitely caught your interest.

"It's bad news- a hex." She waits by the porch as you walk inside, pushing aside the bead curtain that you have now let down, and grabbing the towel that you left on the bed. "Maybe underwater feels better…"

She waits for some sort of answer, but you stay behind the beads, liking the veil that it puts between you two. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Oh come _on. _Let's not try and fool each other. We both know the truth-" You can't tell if this is her actual serious tone or her teasing one again and you feel a bit sick. "Aaand if we can't be straightforward then there's no point in us being friends."

This lifts a bit of a weight off your chest and you come out from behind the curtain, moving to sit on the porch so that your legs dangle off the sides. It's still a bit of a risk, but you want to trust this woman, so you take it. "So… we'd be friends then?"

"We could be- if we play our cards right." Her smile is a bit like a shark at that, but she tones it down after seeing the way that it makes you stiffen. "Does it feel better in that home of yours? Under the waves I mean." She makes a dismissive wave at the house behind you.

You hesitate a bit, because you want to be honest, but you don't know what to say. "Well… it… It definitely feels different." You rub the towel at the back of your head and look out over the waters, knowing that things always seem so much clearer when you are out there.

"Well, I know that you don't talk down there- you sing." She smiles at this, as though she has some kind of private joke and you find it a bit endearing.

"Yes." You try your own hand at nonchalant, rubbing at the material that still sticks tight to your legs, hoping to soak up a bit of the water. "Singing carries better underwater."

"And what about the cold?"

You sniff and shake your head at her. "You get used to it." You make to stand, the towel now just as damp as your clothing and completely ineffectual.

"Well of course, you have your seal coat." She still seems matter-of-factual about all of this and it has you confused as to whether you are playing some kind of game.

"My seal coat?"

"Look, there's no point in beating around the bush. I do know these things, I've been studying them my whole life." At this she looks a bit exasperated and it causes you to falter.

"So… tell me about my seal coat. I don't know if Marcus let you in on all the details, but I've forgotten many things." You stand, lean against the door frame and focus your attention solely on her.

She waits a moment to see if you're serious, but when you wait patiently she takes a deep breath and starts in. "You lose it when you get out of the water, and you can't go back in until you find it…. but if you do find it, and bury it on land, you can stay for seven years…. and you cry seven tears. But then, when the crying's done, your kind of folk can often find unexpected happiness with a landsman…. Selkie people often find unexpected happiness with a landsman."

Her voice trails off several times throughout the explanation, and by the end of it she has this wistful, far off look that has you sympathizing with her. She's looking at the ground, hip cocked, picking at her nails and for once, she is quiet. After the silence sticks for a while, and starts to get heavy she looks back up at you and finishes with a quiet, "That's all I know." It is all very sad, and you pull yourself up from the frame as she turns to walk away, throwing her hair down around her shoulders and hiding her face behind it. "People will be wondering where I've gotten off to." Her voice is a bit rough now, none of that pride strengthening it as it did before.

You walk to the edge of the porch, but don't go any further, and quietly call out, "See you again…" but it comes out almost as a question. She stops, turns to look and you, and points.

"Is that one of your tears?" The question shocks you a bit, and you reach up a lightly quivering hand to wipe at your cheek.

It comes away wet and you can't help but just stare at it for a moment. "Maybe." Your voice cracks a bit as you try to make it project across the distance between you.

She gives you a not-quite smile as she turns to head back again. "You've only six left…."

With Marcus' permission you no longer are hesitant to change things around the house, and so you set about washing and changing the bedding, switching the long dead-and-gone flowers in the pots on the porch for fresh, wild ones that you picked this morning, and filling empty spaces with bowls that you have put treasures from the sea in. You don't know why you collect the myriad smooth stones, broken shells, bits of sea glass, and different colored sands, but it's like a compulsion that you just can't help, and you like having pieces of the water here with you.

Ever since that strange interaction with Cottia, you've been thinking, you can't help it. And you find yourself noticing all the strange things that you did before, that didn't seem odd until just now. Like how you found a stray bit of fishing net and pulled it down over your arm, spending nearly an hour spreading your fingers and twisting your forearm, fascinated by the way it formed around your hand, or how you sing all the time, but only know the one song, in a language you don't understand and can't describe.

To distract yourself from the somber thoughts, you try on all the clothes that Marcus bought for you in several different combinations, fiddle with the small music box he got you, humming the tune you know to yourself regardless, and thinking maybe if you can get it to work you'll finally know another melody. Eventually you find yourself wondering what he's doing now. You wonder if he's thinking about you too, if he'll come and take you fishing again tomorrow. For the first time since you re-awoke, since you claimed this new life, you are hit with the fact that before this afternoon, Marcus was the only person in the whole world that you knew and he was the only person that even knew _you_ existed. The realization sends a chill down your spine, but you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.


	6. Chapter 6

As it happens, the next time that Marcus comes over it's not to take Esca fishing, but instead out to the largest pier in town where a local holiday is being celebrated with a festival of sorts- vendors renting out street carts to sell their food or trinkets, contests and competitions of all kinds taking place, and a fair share of streamers and lights strung all across the store fronts. The whole town comes alive in a way that Marcus knows belies these rigid people and their behavior and he can see a kind of giddiness bubbling up inside of Esca at the chance to get out of the house.

They use the pick-up to get into town, grabbing Cottia along the way, and the three of them get along surprisingly well as long as the conversation is kept light and shallow. But it's hard to avoid the elephant in the room as they draw nearer and nearer the hub of activity- people milling about the streets peering into their car windows as they drive by. One person, emboldened by the anonymity of the crowd shouts out for them to ask for forgiveness, causing a few more to bang against the side of the truck, egged on. Marcus' shoulders tighten up at this, Cottia sinks as far back into her seat as she can manage, and Esca can't do much but stare listlessly at his hands.

Behind him, Cottia huffs loudly and kicks at his seat. "They should show you some respect you know! A creature such as yourself gracing them with your presence." There's no hint of irony or teasing in her tone, and Marcus wonders if she might actually be looking for something else so desperately in her life, that she genuinely believes Esca could be a supernatural being.

He can't exactly deny that there's something strange and… wonderful about the boy, but Marcus has always made sure to try and ground himself in reality, the thought of Esca being a magical creature is laughable, even if it does give him pause some days. Esca never really likes to talk about it, doesn't like the mentions of his lost past, and you can see his patience wearing thin. "Cottia- please." It comes out a little clipped, but still quiet and polite.

"Did you know your kind can even grant a wish- make someone's dream come true."

"Cottia- don't. I don't want to talk about this." Esca's staring resolutely out the windows, meeting the curious and judgmental gazes head on and Marcus can see him trying not to lose him temper. He awkwardly drums his fingers on the steering wheel, not knowing what to say, but still feeling the need to pitch in his own opinion. After a few long moments of the tense silence, Marcus turns to look at him again and Esca seems troubled, brows knit and mouth pulled into a frown. It doesn't suit him and Marcus wishes he could do something to smooth the discomfort away.

"If you're a selk you can! It's true I swear." Her voice is begging him to let her have this, to let this bit of mysticism dally so that maybe this place doesn't seem so harsh. Marcus can see the tipping point, can see the cracks in Esca's resolve splinter and he knows the boy's been pushed too far.

"Then I'm not a selk!" Esca snaps, turning in his seat to convey the heat of his words through his eyes. She shrinks back from him, but the determination in her eyes speaks nothing of fear and it has Marcus questioning what's going on between the two of them, what's going on inside their heads.

Marcus finally finds a place to park along the street, and he pulls in haphazardly, calling for everyone to pile out of the truck. They walk in silence for a few moments, allowing the cool fresh air and the open space to dissipate the tenseness from their dispositions. Marcus buys them each a basket of fries and shoulders a space open through the crowds so they can idly watch the giant tug of war going on across the way, or the men straddling planks over the side of their ships, bashing each other with padded oars and trying to outlast the other.

A multitude of flags are hung from the railings of the pier and strewn across the water, tied at the other end onto one of the many ships docked in the harbor. Marcus throws an arm around Esca's waist, for once not really caring whatever anyone thought or said. The boy gives him a funny look at first, but when Marcus just offers a goofy smile in return, he seems to relax into it. Marcus thinks that he might have finally found his place here and though he's not quite there yet, he can feel contentment worming its way into his heart.

The outdoor activities start to wane as the sun dips lower in the sky, and the majority of people start to move into the heart of the city, gathering in bars and homes, perhaps trying to find someplace open to grab a bite to eat. Esca's been taking an immense amount of pleasure in playing with the seals moseying around the waters. They bark and clap, and he laughs in delight as he tosses fish their way, imitating their sounds. Marcus has been happy just standing back and watching the odd affinity they have for one another, and he turns to tell Cottia she just might be right about the boy being a seal person, but she's disappeared from his side.

He cranes his neck and scans through what's left of the crowds, trying to see if she just wandered off, grown bored with his infatuation. When he finally catches sight of her though, she's climbing the railing at the end of the pier, turning to find Esca along the shore. "So you're not a selk?" She calls out to him, and flashes a dangerous kind of grin. "Prove it!" She starts to strip off her outer layers, and Marcus' heart clenches in his chest. For all her knowledge, Cottia doesn't know how to swim.

He throws Esca a panicked look, and it seems to convey all he needs because the boy takes off, dashing down the wooden planks, pausing only to take off his shoes and heavy jacket, crying out when she jumps into the brine. Only a few seconds behind, he dives right in after her, not a moment's hesitation, and rockets down through the water, in a way that few can. The seaweed is thick here and the water is murky, but it doesn't take long for him to find her, wrap his arms around her waist, and kick as hard as he can.

The seconds are agonizing as Esca swims towards the sky and to Marcus it feels like an eternity. He can see their shapes beneath the water, but they seem as though they're moving so slowly, much slower than he's accustomed to with Esca. Usually the boy is an unearthly force in the water, so fast and graceful, and Marcus panics when he thinks that the weight of Cottia might be too much for Esca. He doubts the boy for just a split second, just for one second, but then they seem to hit the glimmering sun spot on the water and break through. It creates the illusion of the water shattering around them, and Marcus finally understands why Esca so frequently refers to his emergence from the waters as a rebirth.

There are men waiting just a few arms lengths away, reaching out from their rowboats, electric blankets being pulled from first aid kits. Esca holds her tight and treads over, looking thankful when Marcus makes it down and lifts her from his arms. The pair of them look at her for some kind of explanation, some method to the madness, and she flashes an utterly self-satisfied grin. "Guess I was lucky huh?"

"What?!" Marcus draws her close to his chest and tightens the blanket around her shoulders.

"That he breathes underwater."

The two of you maintain a fragile silence the whole ride back to the cove. Marcus doesn't quite seem like he's angry- at you or her- but more ill-at-ease. His hand twitches loosely by his side as you both navigate the trail down the hill and to the shack. You can sense that he wants to say something, but maybe just isn't quite sure what that is yet. It's not that hard for you to stay quiet, a certain amount of guilt still sitting heavy in your stomach. It's been growing ever since you were found out, but you keep trying to tuck it back into your mind. So far you've been unsuccessful.

That sense that you don't really belong here, that you're upsetting the order of things, sounds ridiculous in your head, but makes you heartsick all the same. "Why- why did she do that to herself?" His voice is quiet, but it still startles you and it takes you a moment to gain enough momentum to answer.

"To test me, maybe. See how far I could go, how much I would do." You hesitate at the door for just a moment, taking a deep breath and marveling at how natural it feels to be here. Knowing that you're not in danger of being found, you always leave the door unlocked, the windows open, and when you walk inside, shrugging off the electric blanket, you can't help but feel at peace. "Strange. It feels like home."

Marcus freezes in the doorframe at this, catching your eye for only a moment before turning his back to look out into the night. He seems tired, energy spent, but nonetheless as though he's trying to make a great decision. So you leave him there to dwell in his thoughts while you put the kettle on and move to change out of your wet clothes.

"You said… _would_ the second time. How much would you do- to help her… or me?" The question feels a bit like a stab in the back, a sharp, hot slice between your ribs. Calmly you take your boots off and drop them to the floor, but pull that stupid, greasy jacket he first gave you even tighter.

"So now you're testing me too?" You rub ineffectually at your shoulders, and wait for his response. The kettle's just starting to steam and right now the bubble of the water seems louder than it's ever been before, and when it finally whistles, the shriek feels like it's piercing your ear drums. You rush to take it off the stove and the second you do, a lofty 'sorry' floats over Marcus' shoulder. You decide to just let it go for now, knowing there could never be purposeful malice behind his words. "Why a restaurant?"

It's perhaps the single most unsubtle topic switch the world has seen, but Marcus' shoulders shudder with a chuckle so you go back to making your tea. "My dad wasn't around much when I was little, upright left when I was seven, so my mother had to work a full-time job to pay the bills. She didn't get much time off, and when she did I'd usually just let her catch up on sleep. But every Sunday we'd make these giant dinners to share with the neighbors and she'd try to teach me something new every week, so I could take care of myself when I was alone.

"I loved spending those evenings with her, keeping things basic, but still making something… magical to share with others by the end of the night. It seemed to bring everybody together, heal the rift between folks for just a few hours. So I kind of developed this love for food, and I'd always wanted to make dinner mean something to people again." He shrugs and brushes at his nose, kicking at the ground. "And though I kinda went through some bad times, I figured if I could just get back to that, everything would be as it was again." He smiles, a little sadly, but finally turns to look back into the house.

His expression changes when he looks at you and it leaves your mouth dry. Nervously you twiddle with the spoon in your mug and keep an eye on him as he shuts the door and meanders over to stand in front of you. He uses the back of one hand to brush at the line of your jaw and with the other he takes the tea from your hands and sets it on the table. "Are you dry?" If you hadn't been so intensely focused on his every movement, the subject of his stare, the pace of his breathing, you wouldn't have heard him speak. Gently he tips your chin up to look into your eyes, and it draws a hitch in your breath.

You nod dumbly as the opposite hand comes up to brush through your hair and grip at the back of your head. He leans into you, oh _so _slowly, an agonizingly delicate few seconds stealing the breath from your lungs. First your foreheads press together and his fingers tighten in your hair. Your noses brush as he angles his head and you can feel his lashes sweep across your cheeks as he slopes forward, and then your lips touch.

The first time it is just the briefest brush of skin, but he doesn't stop, pressing just a little bit harder, a little more fully with each kiss. His hands float down to grip at either side of your jacket, and he pushes it down and across your shoulders. He starts to move you back towards the bed, undressing you as he goes, and when the rough calluses of his palms catch on your bare skin, you can't help the sharp intake of breath, the nearly painful whine that slips out. "D-didn't Cottia tell you? When a selk makes love to a fisherman, he weeps. Salt tears."

Your chest is heaving now and the harsh sound of your breathing fills the room with a stifling kind of heat. His hands are roaming the expanses of your torso and he seems content to let you talk as he takes his time going over every last bump and blemish on your body. When your knees hit the edge of the bed, you offer no resistance and fall back against the mattress, hands grasping desperately at the sheets as he kneels between your legs and discards the last of your clothing.

There is no more room for talk, hardly any room for thinking as instinct takes over and the wanton throws of your voice are cast about, pouring out of you with unabashed desire. He presses the entire length of his body across yours, easily slotting the odd grooves and edges. His skin is feverish against your own, and the chords of his muscle strain in effort.

He seems to cover you entirely, a sweltering cage that radiates pleasure in an excruciating symphony. Light, breezy touches set your skin to shiver. A slick and clever tongue leaves sensitive trails in its wake to be manipulated by the flighty sensation of his ragged breath. He marks with blunt teeth and nails, pillages with his hands, and subjugates with the strength of his thighs.

He is purposeful and intent, driving to your core and making sure he never has to ask permission by always knowing where he needs to be. Your senses are engulfed, eclipsed by the feel, the taste, the sound, the very _idea _of him, and when he takes you over the brink you throw your head back and arch into the solid presence of him, hands scrabbling at his back and heels dug painfully tight into the meat of his buttocks. He finishes not long after you and gently coaxes you back into awareness, his eyes a tad unfocused and his body still quivering with aftershocks.

He brushes the damp hair plastered to your forehead back and away from your eyes as he collapses onto his back, tugging at your skull. You rest your cheek on the flat of his stomach and let your fingers idly trace through the line of hair that starts just above his navel, thickening on its way down. "You said you died- in the water." His voice is thick and rough, a special kind of grit coloring his tone. "How many lives do you have?"

You look up at him and try to clear your throat, testing out your raw vocal chords while you think up what kind of answer might be appropriate. You don't want to sound starry-eyed and desperate- drive him away with the intensity of your feelings, but your heart kind of runs away with your mouth. "For you? I can't count." You lick your lips and pray that you haven't overstepped, read this the wrong way.

A kind of glorious anguish pushes at his features and he brushes through your hair, again and again. He doesn't seem capable of a response just yet, so you force yourself from the bed and move to the window. It has begun to rain again and the smell of it is so fresh, the frigid air, cooled by its presence feels startlingly electric across your sweat-slicked skin. The water calls to you as always, the droplets singing in harmony- a magnificent opus to your glowing consummation.

You step out into the downpour and let it wash over you. Marcus watches, rapt, from the bed. Distantly the lighthouse throws everything into a stark contrast, every few seconds, when the signal turns. The sight of him, laid bare and vulnerable, attention focused solely on you, is burned into your memory forever.


	7. Chapter 7

It's been two years, seven months, and twenty-one days since Marcus last talked to his uncle. The man had raised him, taken him in when his parents were no longer able. He had loved the man like he never could with his own father, but after his mother's death and the bout of alcoholism that followed, he'd thought it best to leave the poor man out of his life. Until now.

It takes hours of mental preparation just to get to the point where he's standing outside a phone booth, number clutched firmly in hand with a wealth of pocket change. It takes a few deep breaths before he steps inside, and a couple more to pick up the receiver. He slides each coin in slowly, the clunk of their acceptance giving off a definite sense of finality. The other side rings only twice before it's answered, and for some reason that catches Marcus off guard, unprepared. "Hello? Is anybody there? …I can hear you breathing."

Marcus swallows past the lump in his throat and barely manages to squawk out a hello. His heart is sitting high up his chest, making each shallow breath painful, and as his uncle takes a turn with silence, all the terrible things he did come rushing to mind, overwhelming what little confidence he had gathered. He's just about to hang up, maybe try again in another year or so when the memories have lost a little more potency when his uncle starts to talk again. "Marcus, please. Don't go."

The quiet desperation clear in his Uncle's voice forces out a shaky, nearly manic laugh as Marcus falls back against the glass of the booth, letting it support his weight. "Why? Why would- you should hate me." Marcus mutters the last bit as he closes his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Well I was never very good at doing what was expected of me." His uncle tries to keep things a little lighter- always was trying to get Marcus to be less serious, less harsh. "Talk to me. Please? I just… want to hear you talk."

Marcus lets out a long sigh, contained in it the weight of the world, but he's reminded of why he's here, the inspiration behind his reconnection with his last living relative. "It's about a boy, Uncle." It sounds so childish, so simple when he says it out loud, across the phone his uncle might even think he's making a joke, but here, in this place, it feels like a sinister confession. "I drew him up from the waters in my nets." The truth of the matter doesn't help his attempt to make the subject serious and it frustrates him quickly.

For a moment his uncle says nothing, perhaps debating in his head whether Marcus is currently sober or not, but when he answers, he sounds settled in for the long run. "What about this boy? Why have you called me, of all people?"

So direct, so to the point, it has Marcus hedging at first, still scared to really admit to himself, to another, what this call means. What Esca means. "H-he brings me luck, and I don't know why." His uncle says nothing, perhaps sensing, in that way of his, that Marcus just needs to soldier on through this. "I'm afraid, Uncle." He only realizes just how true it is now that he's let it out, and the usual cold outside seems so much more vicious with the truth. "I-I'm beginning…. to hope." His voice is quavering and he can feel the sharp prick of tears behind his eyes. It's been a long while since he let himself feel so much.

"You should never lose hope Marcus." His uncle's voice is quiet, but steadfast, as immovable as the man himself. His uncle was always a thinker, a philosopher, so unlike Marcus' father, but even so he still had the steel resolve that seemed so dominant in their family. Darkly, Marcus thinks it must have skipped a generation and left him drowning in this mire of fear and crumbling conviction.

"He was drowned, Uncle. He was drowned and my nets brought him back to life."

"That doesn't make any sense Marcus! What's going on? Where are you?" The questions are still calmly asked, but Marcus can tell his uncle is desperate to know just what he's gotten himself into.

Now that the dam has been broken, now that he's finally allowed this of himself, Marcus cannot stop. He has to get it all out there, say everything he's kept locked up in his heart, or he thinks it just might drive him mad. "None of it makes sense! That's why I'm afraid." There's a beep on his end of the telephone, and with a start Marcus starts digging around his pockets for the change he'd brought, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder and fumbling over the layers of his clothes. Half the coins fall to the floor before he fishes a few out and with shaking hands slides them into the receiver. The distraction proves to be only that, and once the beeping is gone Marcus is still faced with his problem. "I know something wonderful… or terrible is going to happen. That's just the kind of boy he is…. That's just the kind of person he is." Marcus runs a hand over his face, no longer able to keep the tears at bay.

Cottia is sitting patiently on one of the kitchen chairs, watching you as you continue to fiddle with the music box Marcus had bought for you. After the other night it's taken on a whole new meaning and you're determined to make it sing again. Every twenty minutes or so Cottia offers up a word of advice, asks if he'd like something to eat or drink, or turns to stare over her shoulder and out into the sea. She'd been looked over by the standby EMT's at the carnival and unable to offer up an explanation for her actions, they'd taken her to see a psychiatrist- worried it'd been a suicide attempt. She and Marcus had argued passionately with anyone in the hospital that would listen, but having seen the endless emptiness that would sometimes work its way into her eyes, you weren't so convinced they were wrong.

In the end they'd allowed Marcus to keep her out of a clinic, on the condition that he'd watch her, never let her out of his site, and bring her in for weekly sessions. So the two of you would take turns accompanying her throughout the day and then housing her at night. She played a good act in front of the both of you- smiling and laughing when called for, still curious and questioning as ever, but you knew. You think she can tell that you're not fooled, a distance having grown between you ever since she came home to find you'd hidden all the knives in the house, kept Marcus' spare rope and fishing wire out in the greenhouse behind your shack, and made your temporary bed right beside the one she'd be using.

You've tried to talk to her, made sure to let her know you don't think any less of her, that you just want to help. She shuts you down cold every time so now you've just adopted a mutual silence with each other. So when she turns to you today and casually says "Do you imagine things Esca?" you're caught off guard.

You don't quite know what her questions means, what it is she's searching for, but you purse your lips momentarily and offer up the only thing you can think of. "I usually leave that to you."

Cottia smiles, weary but genuine, and lays her head down on her arms resting on the table. "It's because I have too much time on my own, day in and day out. Nothing changes, everything static, the world passing by." She sighs and plays with a knot of wood, letting her words sink in before continuing. "I try to imagine a happy ending, like those fairy tales Marcus is so fond of. But it's hard." She looks up at you then and a chill runs down your back as you think you finally understand. "Some days it's hard."

When Marcus finally hangs up the phone, several dollars poorer, throat raw, and eyes burning, he feels raw, but a little better- like he'd sucked poison from a wound and was just now waiting for his system to return to normal. He pulls aside the folding door and takes long lungfuls of the crisp air until he notices Placidus waiting just outside. _And right back into the fray_ he thinks as he steels himself. "Ah Marcus! Just the man I was looking for." Marcus starts walking back to his truck- parked just across the street and scowls when Placidus pulls up to walk beside him. "Got a light?"

"What do you want Placidus?" Usually Marcus at least tries to keep the aggravation from his voice, plays polite so the people in town will leave him alone, but right now he just doesn't have the energy for it.

"The boy on your boat- what is he to you?" All traces of the playful haughtiness fled his face in an instant and that cold, hard ugly reality beneath is revealed. Panic rises fast and unforgiving in Marcus' throat and suddenly he tastes bile on his tongue. "What do you call him?"

Marcus opens the door of the truck and pauses for just a moment to give his answer before getting in. "My mascot." He smiles brashly at the anger that flashes across Placidus' features before he speeds away.

You're awakened by the familiar sound of tires on the gravel uphill and for a few seconds you're thrilled to think it's Marcus, come to wish you goodnight and maybe share a kiss. But then a second and third car can be heard pulling up above the house and immediately adrenaline rockets into your veins. "Cottia!" You whisper harshly as you leap out of bed and yank on the nearest pair of boots and a trench coat. "We need to leave. Now!" You shake her awake and try to shush her loud protests.

"Esca? What are you doing?" You don't answer her as you can now hear car doors slamming and voices carrying across the wind. They are all laughing, calling out to each other, footsteps heavy on the rocks. Something's off about them, and you feel sick to your stomach with the thought that they might be without the usual inhibitions- a group of young townsfolk brash, under the influence, violent. Hurriedly you pull her out the door and run for the abandoned greenhouse, the only place out here you know to hide. Though Cottia lets you guide her behind the building and into the cover of the semi-opaque tarp that housed the broken pots and overgrown vines that lay in ruin, she constantly throws looks over her shoulder and continues to ask questions. "Is that Placidus? A-and Liathan? What's everyone doing here?"

You know why they're here, know of the animosity they've shown Marcus, probably now boiled over because of _you._ "Cottia, I need you to listen to me and do just as I say." You hold her face between your hands and force her to look you in the eyes, to try and think through the fear that must be causing the full-body shivers that are wracking her frame. "They're here for me so I need you to get out of here." You can see the protest working forward from her lips, but you cut her off with a harsh glare. "Run as fast as you can- find Marcus, he'll know what to do." You try to give her a reassuring smile, but are pretty sure that it comes out as a grimace.

She reaches up and gives your hands a brief squeeze before pulling back from your grip and crouching to look through a tear in the tarp. Once she thinks the way is clear she takes off, throwing you one last glance and mouthing "Sorry," probably just in case she doesn't see you again.

Marcus drives as fast as he can, unable to shake the feeling that Placidus' presence was something of a warning of things to come. He has to slow down once he gets out of town, the sun setting fast behind the hills and making these back roads dangerous to traverse in the dark. His anxiety grows more and more with all the time he has to imagine what the townspeople would do if they found out about him and Esca and by the time he pulls up to the footpath to the cove he's leaping out of the car, leaving the lights on and the engine running.

He nearly twists his ankle running down the steep paths cut into the hill. He doesn't pay any mind to his own safety as he bounds across the porch, but comes to a dead stop in front of the door of the shack, left ajar. His heart leaps into his throat and he feels like he's gonna be sick. It takes everything he has to lean forward and push the door aside. His breath catches in his throat as he waits… Waits for what? He's not sure what would be worse, to see the place empty or to see Esca broken and bloody inside.

At first there's nothing, this empty void that feeds into his fears. The room pitch black and the lack of moonlight gives no relief, but then a lamp flickers on towards the back and illuminates the scene. The house has been trashed, tables turned, glass broken, clothes and bedding strewn across the floor. But no Esca. The fear doesn't subside and Marcus turns away from it to look back at the hills he raced down. "ESCA!" He cups his hands around his mouth and screams so loud it hurts. There's no reply so he starts to run, where he's not sure, but he just needs to be doing _something_. "ESCA!"

He scours the surrounding land, tears he didn't think would be able to form so soon blurring his vision as he stumbles over rocks and creeks and divots. After a few minutes he can't call anymore, his voice hoarse, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He's just about to give in, collapse to the ground and wait for Placidus and the rest of them to find him too, when he spots something under the small stone bridge he'd once seen Esca washing his clothes by. He stops, stares, pleading for the shape to move, to be something more than a moss covered rock, and when he steps forward, feet crunching over the gravel, a familiar pair of otherworldly eyes stare back. "I thought I get seven years." he croaks out as he wades through the creek and comes to sit beside the other boy. Esca just shrugs his shoulders and looks apologetic, shrinking into himself by hugging his knees to his chest and looking away again. "Ignore them. Tell 'em to piss off…. W-we could leave, never look back."

Esca laughs sadly and wipes at his nose with his sleeve, sniffling and gazing intently into the water as though it might have all the answers they need. "I wish I could." Marcus could hear the worry in his voice, the sheer level of desperation making a knot twist in his stomach. All he wanted to do was reach across the small gap between them and take Esca into his arms, make him forget this was the world they lived in.

"Wish then."

"I-" Esca's voice breaks and he buries his face in his lap for a few seconds before he comes back out and tries again. "I can't."

"You can grant a wish." Marcus says it with all the conviction he can muster, praying that maybe what they say is true- that if you believe in something hard enough it must be true.

Esca turns to him then, his eyes a wild kind of hopeful, looking to be reaching for any kind of foothold. "Are you sure?"

"Well if Cottia says it, it has to be true right?" Marcus chuckles half-heartedly at the idea of Cottia hearing him say she was omniscient. She'd love it.

Esca waits, looking as though he might be holding something back before it all comes spilling out. "Okay then, I wish she wasn't sick." This is hardly the time or place to broach the subject, but Marcus knows Esca's been waiting for the right time, seen the worried glances he's always throwing Cottia's way.

Marcus wants to say 'I don't know what you're talking about! Cottia's just fine, she's just as reckless and tempestuous as the sea.' but instead he just nods and says "So do I." Finally the space between them is broached as Esca places a firm hand on his knee and offers up a wry twist of his lips. "But I also wish things were different, wish we could stay."

"That's two wishes." Esca moves to let his hand fall away and looks back to the ground.

Marcus catches it before it gets too far and holds it between his own, giving it a brief kiss. "One for you and one for me."


	8. Chapter 8

It's been four days since they came for Esca, but since the element of surprise or the precious anonymity they had the first time is no longer on their side, it seems as though they've left Marcus and the boy alone for the time being. Marcus has been ghosting through his daily routines ever since- not sure what else to do, but knowing it's not over yet. Esca has been too afraid to go back to the cove, staying only God knows where and occasionally popping up to alleviate Marcus from his Cottia duties or to share a silent meal. Things between the two of them have been tense ever since the night under the bridge.

Marcus wants to just take the three of them and leave- never looking back, never regretting a moment, and finding a life that would take them for who they are. But Esca has been arguing that he just started to set down roots, just started to feel comfortable with himself again and he's voiced concerns over Marcus and Cottia resenting him later on in life for taking away everything they knew, everything they had planned and hoped for. He refuses to be the cause of so much upheaval, but there's something else there- something Marcus can't quite guess at. He's not sure how, but he knows that Esca's holding something back, that there's more to his unwillingness to leave. He doesn't know how to broach the topic with the two of them only seeing each other sporadically and usually only for a few spare moments. He wishes that he could just take the boy into his arms and let him know that it'll all be alright, that he'll still love and protect him no matter what happens, but he hasn't found that perfect moment to yet.

Indecision isn't doing them any favors and their little trio seems to be caught in this odd sense of limbo, time slipping by even though they stand stock still. It feels as though they might be caught there forever and Marcus can't stand the thought of it- of this rift between all three of them being made permanent, of letting those men win. He waits until the next time that Esca comes over and asks him to keep an eye on Cottia, knowing he has a soft spot for her and will stick around a while to do so. It's simple enough, and once the two of them are preoccupied- caught up with the little music box Esca stole away from the house before abandoning it- he steels himself, grabs his jacket, and heads out to his pick-up. Marcus is no longer content to just let the world pass him by as he tries his best to stay afloat; this time he's determined to do something about his situation, to do more than cope. He's put the truck into gear and is just about to pull away when the passenger door swings open and Esca swings himself inside, a stern look pulling at his features. "I know what you're doing- I'm not stupid Marcus."

Marcus thinks he should be angry at this, thinks he should tell Esca to mind his own business and go back inside to take care of someone who actually needed his close attentions, but instead he just ducks his head and feel ashamed for getting caught. "I- I have to do something!" Marcus lays his head on the steering wheel and stares at his hands, feeling truly useless for the first time in his life. Before it had all been inaction- choosing not to do something when he could, but this time he doesn't know what to do. He'd thought maybe he could just go have it out with Placidus, see if physical intimidation would get him anywhere, and if not that then maybe try and make a deal to keep Esca safe. In the end that's all that matters to him. Even if it means he can't have the other man for his own, if he has to be unhappy for the rest of his life, Esca is his top priority.

"You really think they'll give you what you want?" Esca doesn't sound harsh despite the frustration clear on his face and Marcus wonders if he feels just as hopeless.

"I have to try." Marcus sits back up and takes a deep breath, turning to face Esca. "I won't sit by and I can't keep waiting for them to make another move. I'm sorry." Esca stares at him for a long time, his expression unreadable, but eventually he gives a slow nod and opens the door again. He turns to get out, but after a moment's hesitation he reaches back and grabs Marcus' hand. He grips it fiercely and bites his lip, looking as though he's searching for the right thing to say. He's worried, Marcus can tell, but there's still that mysterious something underneath that twists his stomach. In the end Esca just nods again before letting go and heading back into the house, not looking back.

Marcus makes it all the way into town before he notices that something's not right. The street's alive with a nervous energy that sets him on edge and every person he passes seems to look straight through him. He parks in front of Placidus' favorite pub, a seedy place appropriately named _The Sea Hag_. There's a crowd of people trying to press into the doors, a desperate sort of fear evident in the way they kept close to each other and whispered in frenzied tones. Marcus wonders if it all might have to do with him and Esca, but reconsiders when he pushes through the masses with little resistance. They seem dazed and barely even register his advance as he slowly, but surely makes his way inside.

The sour stench of alcohol hits him like a wall when he gets inside and he can feel his insides crawl as he at once craves and recoils from it. His instincts tell him to turn back and get out of here as fast as he can manage- that he's not ready to be around drinkers again, no matter how casual. It's something he's been steadfastly staying away from, these last three years. The thing he so wishes he could pretend didn't worm itself between him and his remaining family. He's not sure that he's strong enough for this yet.

He's not exactly in the most solid states of mind right now, and that can only spell disaster. Instead of dashing for the exact like he knows he should, he soldiers on because he knows that he might never work up the courage to confront Placidus again. When he gets to the bar he immediately gets pulled by his elbow down onto a stool and looks over to see Liathan, bleary eyed and dour. While Placidus more or less runs this town, his smarm and cutting wit along with his wealth and near monopoly of the businesses in town working to easily sway the people, everyone knows Liathan is the real brains behind every move he makes, being a member of the town council he can orchestrate everything behind the scenes. The two of them are close in that competitive way that only business partners can understand- at once looking out for one another but keeping an even closer eye for an opportunity to get the upper hand. "Where've you been, Circus?"

His words slur just enough for Marcus to tell he's been here for a bit, but he still has his mind about him. "What's going on- why's everybody acting so strange?" Liathan raises his fingers and the bartender rushes over to place two shots in front of him, leaving behind the other customers without question. Liathan takes one and raises it to his lips, taking a breath before throwing it back and hissing after he swallows. Still wincing he pushes the other in Marcus' direction.

"Show some respect would ya?" Liathan throws up his arms and gestures to encompass the whole of the bar. "It's a wake!" Marcus' brows furrow as he looks around for a coffin, or even to just see if anyone's actually garbed in black, but if this is truly a wake it had to be impromptu. Seeing his doubt Liathan gives a vicious smile. "Last minute notice, but I would've figured even you'd heard by now!" He orders another drink, this time a wide glass of something dark and strong smelling. "Placidus tried to drive himself home after one too many last night- hit a wall and went straight through the windshield!" Liathan drags a finger across his throat and gives a sad, wry sort of smile. "Stupid bastard."

Marcus wonders if this makes his situation worse or better and then immediately feels guilty for thinking only on how this affects him. Placidus may have been an asshole and a bigot, but a lot of people here genuinely liked him for some reason or another, and he would never find himself being ill-mannered towards the dead. "I'm sorry." It's all Marcus can manage to mumble and for a few seconds, he thinks the other man didn't hear him.

"What for? I can't actually blame anything on you this time- you didn't even know." Liathan takes another long draw from his glass before looking pointedly at Marcus' still full shot. "Jesus, Circus. The man's dead!" Marcus grits his teeth and clenches his fists a few times before grabbing the glass and knocking back the fluid. It burns harshly in his throat and his eyes water, but it's familiar and almost welcoming. It frightens him. But Liathan just grins like the cat that got the canary and asks for a bottle from the top shelf before turning back to him. "Now I suppose you'll want to be discussing your water baby." Liathan idly studies his nails and takes a swig from the bottle before passing it to Marcus and waiting for him to drink in turn.

"But I'd actually like to bring that original proposal of yours back to the table- what was it… a kind of eatery yes?" Marcus knows he should be interjecting, should try and take hold of this conversation before it goes places he doesn't want to see, but he's so overwhelmed by everything, his footing having changed dramatically in less than a year and the alcohol's already leaving him heady, his body shocked by it after having been deprived for so long. Liathan takes advantage of his silence and moves on, pressing his fingers against the bottom of the bottle to press it to Marcus' lips. "Get rid of the boy, Circus. He brings good luck for you, but the imbalance taints ours. I'll make sure he's left alone though, and that _you _finally get what you want." Marcus can see he's trying to gauge the response of his offer, but Marcus himself doesn't know what to think. "Turn a new leaf, choose the people over this 'creature of the sea'." Of all the things Marcus had prepared for, this wasn't one of them. So he takes another drink. "You keep that, nurse on it while you mull things over and get back to me in the morning." Liathan lays what Marcus is sure is supposed to be a comforting hand on his shoulder and looks straight into his eyes. "Make the right choice."

Marcus stumbles out of the bar something like three hours later, refreshed bottle in hand and a remarkable sense of calm about him. He doesn't even know that he's made a decision until _The Eagle _comes into view and he finds himself pulling her towards the dock, pausing occasionally to take a drink. He hops on board, tripping and falling to his knees, but making sure not to lose a precious drop of Liathan's thoughtful gift, before untying her and heading into the captain's booth. He starts up the engine and plunks the bottle down, steering her safe of the other boats before opening up the cramped entrances to the bed below that serves as the rarely used boat's quarters. Esca is staring at him, swaddled in blankets with confusion on his face. Marcus isn't sure how he knew the boy was here, thinking perhaps he knew all along, but didn't want to admit it. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Marcus can hear the quaver in his voice, but the guilt that would normally clench his heart feels far away now- out of body, like it might be someone else's emotion. "'Cuz you're a selkie, and I'm an alcoholic." Marcus smiles as though he's said something delightfully clever before his expression turns serious and his voice grows hard. "Restful night's sleep, had ya?"

Esca's breath shudders before he turns his face into the blankets and whispers back, "No… they're still out there somewhere." He looks back at Marcus and wraps them tighter around himself.

"Okay, I'm taking you home." Before Esca can ask another question Marcus slams the door shut and leans his weight against it as he turns the engine to full speed and grabs for his bottle, ignoring the increasingly hard fists that Esca is throwing against the wood.

He doesn't let you out how, no matter how loudly you scream or how roughly you slam yourself against the door and eventually your throat is raw and your knuckles bloody. You try to take comfort in the dull thrum of the engine like you always do, but it feels foreboding now, and every wave that crashes up against the hull makes you flinch away from the cramped walls. You could tell that he wasn't himself and so when he eventually does let you out, you try and keep your distance and watch your words and actions. You sit on the floor and watch as he takes pull after pull from a bottle and sails further and further from the coast. You pull your knees up to your chest and try to fight down the panic that has you breathing shallowly. After a while he wipes at his face and looks down at you with his brow knitted, frowning. "What _are _you?"

It's just a whisper, but it still feels like an accusation and you will the tears pooling behind your eyes not to fall. "I am…" You search for the word, but it's just beyond your reach, one of those things that you can see but can't quite grasp, so your tongue speaks it for you. "I am_ysbryd_." You're not sure what it means, but it feels right. You can tell it's not what Marcus was looking for when his face twists and for the first time you find yourself afraid of him, of what he could do. You grip at the wall behind you and slowly come to stand, watching him carefully as dozens of emotions war across his face before you bolt for the deck.

Though he's lumbering about and unbalanced from the drink, his sea legs are still better than yours and he catches up easily, face red as he screams, "What does that mean?!" His hands grab your shoulders and he pulls your back flat against his chest. He's hurting you, but the more you try to wriggle away the tighter he grips. He lets go of one shoulder to grab at your jaw and his fingers press tight as you're no longer able to hold back the tears, breath hiccupping as you let him guide your sight. Out just ahead of you is a massive rock they've built a lighthouse on, seagulls and seals sharing the little bit of space that's available. "Look- you're home. You'll be safe there." Marcus sounds desperate instead of angry now as he pushes you back towards the booth. "You can sing your song and be out in the open."

You try to turn around and face him, try to figure out what's going through his head and whether or not you can reach him. "Who will I sing it to?" You sound panicked to your own ears and find that you can't swallow past the lump in your throat, that whatever breath you can pull in is tight in your chest, but not enough for your lungs.

Marcus shoves you inside as he moves back to the steering wheel and continues to yell even in the closed room. "Go ahead! Sing- make all the seals dance and the fish jump. Make the waters move to your beck and call."

You stay hunched in the corner but stamp your feet in frustration, no longer able to contain your emotions even if it makes Marcus more unstable. "I can't!"

"Well why not?" He drinks from the bottle again, though most of it runs down his chin, and you wish you could smash the wretched thing.

"Because you're drunk!" Marcus looks genuinely hurt for a moment before he turns back to look at the lighthouse.

"I'll be sober in the morning- you can sing to me then." What's left of the journey is spent in silence, Marcus only looking at you briefly to make sure that you're still there as he tries to remain steady enough to dock. When he makes it in he grabs for your hand, fighting you for it before gripping your wrist and wrenching you forward and out onto the rock. "I fished around here for years and was never bothered by this selkie stuff…" He looks back at you as though you're the cause for everything bad that's happened in his life, and you think that he must be so relieved to have someone else to blame after he's shouldered so much for so long. "And maybe you were dead, and I did bring you back to life, but… that doesn't mean anything!"

You pull free while he's distracted and can't help yourself from yelling back, "Well maybe it doesn't!" He stops cold in his tracks for a hard second before he rounds on you with his fist in the air, crowding up over you and bringing it right up in your face. You shrink down from him, knowing if he got violent there's no chance you'd overpower him, and in his state he could do a lot of damage without realizing it.

"Now you're gonna haunt me, huh? Is that it?! You'll haunt me forever!" Marcus grabs hold of you again and pulls you up on the stairs that lead in a spiral around the island to the lighthouse, yanking you along as you throw your weight back and plant your feet.

"What does haunt mean Marcus?" He doesn't answer as you get closer and closer to the actual building, your dread rising with every step. "What does haunt mean?" You keep asking and asking because the word tastes wicked on your tongue and the way he said it made your heart twist so painfully it actually staunched the flow of tears in shock. "What does haunt mean?" Every time you say it, it gets quieter and closer to a plea than a question.

The walls and stairs are covered with wild grasses, flowers, and moss, but the chipped paint, rusted metals, and decrepit infrastructure of the building make the place seem eerie- that same clash of hard stone and delicate beauty that you'd find in a cemetery. And for some reason that comparison is too chilling for you to even think about. When you reach the top of the stairs he lets you sit as he leans against the wall and looks to be polishing off his bottle, neither of you daring to say anything. Eventually he comes to sit by you and offers up his drink, but you stare resolutely ahead and frown. "What? So selkies don't drink?" He shrugs as though you're really missing out on something and looks ahead to try and catch what you're staring at. You don't give him an answer and eventually he breaks the unnerving quiet again. "So… you'll be safe here, is that alright?"

The next breath you draw in is shaky and you wonder if his question means what you think it means, if he'll leave you here after morning comes and you sing to him one last time. You don't want to think about it. "How's Cottia?"

Marcus stares at you for a moment, eyebrow raised, but takes the change in topic as smoothly as he can manage. "She's fine… She's safe too." He goes to drink again when he realizes that he's finally, finally reached the bottom of the bottle, the container revealing just how big it was now that it isn't shrunk by the dark liquid that was inside. He looks it over for a while before tossing it, end over end, for it to smash against the rocks below. He's careful when he stands, taking a bit to let his head adjust before he starts walking around the lighthouse to go down the steps again. "I've got another bottle on the boat."

At this rate you wonder whether he'll ever have time to get sober or just drink himself to death. Maybe that's his plan- stay drunk so you can't sing your last song and he can't leave. "Marcus… what does haunt mean?"

He keeps walking, but mumbles over his shoulder. "It means what you're doing… to me." You listen to his clunking steps and wonder if he'd really stay here with you, if all of this was just him getting what he wanted and whisking you away from that backwards town and its crooked people. You pull the sleeves of his jacket down over your hands and wiggle your feet in his boots, breathing in his smell, just noticeable under the fish and now pungent alcohol. You can't imagine where you'd be without him, who you'd be, if you'd even still be alive. It's an odd thought, that Marcus is the person responsible for everything that you are, and it distracts you enough that you don't notice how long it's been since you heard Marcus' footsteps- until the roar of the engine breaks you from your thoughts.

The fear you felt before was nothing compared to what nearly incapacitates you now as you hurry to stand and run down the steps. "He wouldn't!" You scream it aloud at first and then chant it over and over again inside your head like a mantra as you try not to trip in your over-sized boots along the uneven steps. "Marcus! Marcus, don't!" You scream as loud as you can manage when he comes into sight, sprinting across the docks and reaching for the rope that's still tied to _The Eagle_'s hull. You know that you couldn't possibly pull a boat in against its motor, but you scramble with the rope all the same, not caring that it burns your hands as you tug at it desperately before Marcus looses the knot that ties it to the ship.

"I know this isn't how fairy tales end, but this one does!" He's just started to cry himself, the first time that you've seen him do it as the boat slowly chugs away from the docks, away from you. "It has to."

You stand at the end of the docks, never having felt so useless and out of touch with your own body as you can do nothing but watch while Marcus and the boat inch further and further to sea. "What do you mean?" Your tears have come back and you think you must truly look like a child now as you stamp your feet in frustration and tug at your hair. "What do you mean?"

"I mean your kind, and my kind- we don't belong together!" You're not sure whether Marcus is referring to you being different from everybody else or whether he's drunk enough to believe the townspeople and is saying that the two of you can't be together because you're the same. Maybe he doesn't even know.

"But- but I have to say goodbye!" The boat starts to gain speed now that it's worked away from the docks and Marcus steals away into the captain's booth. You know that he can't hear you anymore, but you still have to say it. "I have to say goodbye to Cottia too." It doesn't take long before the trawler is nothing but a dot on the horizon, but you continue to watch that spot for hours afterwards.

You spend as much time wandering around the lighthouse as you can handle, stretching out across the rocks, pacing the stairs, watching the seals, but eventually you spot a storm rolling in and as the black clouds advance more and more of the animals begin to leave. You walk up the steps and find the door to the building padlocked- the nearest windows too high for you to break and climb inside. You allow yourself just a few minutes to lay your head against the cold stone and cry, to let yourself feel hopeless and broken before you descend the steps one last time. Instead of heading to the docks you climb over the low wall they've built around the path and out onto the craggy rocks that you saw the seals resting on not too long ago.

They all started swimming for an outcropping of rocks you can just make out against the dark waters. There's only a 50/50 chance you'd make it too, maybe less now that the clouds have reached the island and blotted out the early morning sun, but you figure that if you can swim all the way out there- you'll just be that much closer to shore. You have no idea what you'll do if you make it back, Marcus no longer wanting you and unsure you'd be able to take care of yourself, but it's better than wasting away on this island.

So when you make it to the rock closest to the water, you strip off the jacket and boots Marcus gave you- tossing them behind you, and after a moment of deliberation the shirt, pants, and underwear that he bought you. You are no longer his, you are no longer the boy that was fished from the sea. You take a deep breath and return to the waters, hoping to be reborn again.


	9. Chapter 9

He's standing in his childhood home, rolling out a circle of dough and laughing uninhibitedly while his mother dances around the kitchen and slices apples, the old-fashioned radio on the window sill tinkling out a familiar tune. Everything's just like he remembered- the pale yellow wallpaper, the lemon tree framed outside the window, his mom's paisley apron. The dough is chilled, the flour feather soft, the cinnamon a pleasant, fragrant burn in his nose. The sky is a cloudless pale blue and he thinks he can hear birds chirping in the yard if he listens close enough. Perhaps it's this surreal sense of perfection that makes him question the reality of his situation, but suddenly he notices that he can reach the counter with no effort, that his hands are calloused and over-sized, that when he laughs his voice is deep enough to rumble in his chest. The last time he was with his mother in this kitchen he could barely see over the tops of the bar, needed his own special rolling pin. The second he realized he doesn't belong everything seems to slip away, this gradual forgetting, like sand through an hourglass.

It feels like it takes forever, like he watches as each piece of the illusion melts and drains away, and yet, in the blink of an eye, he is in a different place altogether. Now he stands outside the red door of a cheap motel along the highway. The paint is peeling away; one of the numbers on the door has lost a nail and swings precariously on its single hinge. He can hear a couple having angry sex in the unit next door and in one above his head the tv is blaring, perhaps in an attempt to drown them out. He's clutching a piece of yellow legal paper, the pencil smeared so he can barely read it, listing this address, this very room number. He takes several deep breaths, trying to fight away his sudden nausea before rapping on the wood and listening to the commotion inside.

His mother's been sick for a long time now, but these last few months she's been confined to a hospital bed. It's hard to tell how many days she has left, and even then, some days she barely recognizes his face. He's not sure why he felt compelled to leave her now, to get this confrontation over that's been long overdue, but something in his gut pressed him on. After several locks rattle and he can hear the rasp of the chain being pulled away, the door opens just enough to shed light on the disheveled man inside. His face is pale and sweaty, the lower half covered in dingy, black stubble. He's wearing a wife-beater that's more grey than white now, a scratchy looking bathroom robe, and a pair of striped boxers that he's half falling out of.

Marcus grimaces at the sight, the stench, the image in his head of his father so discordant with the reality before him. A soldier who couldn't cope, no one begrudged his disappearance, held his inability to cope against him, but all the same, no one held on too tight when he pulled away either. It gets blurry here. The words they shout at each other are muffled and the argument seems disjointed, skipping from room to room, escalating to a fistfight in the parking lot. He can't remember how much of it is memory, how much of it is just the dream, but when he lays his unconscious father in the backseat of his car and pulls away into the blackness of the night, the scene shifts around him again.

He's in his uncle's house, his dad is in the other room raiding the fridge, while his mother is lying cold and silent in her bed. She'd been taken home two nights ago to be 'made as comfortable as possible' and you'd been on the road. She'd asked for him before she passed and he wasn't there. His uncle places a comforting hand on his shoulder and tries to pull him away from her bedside. Marcus could have been there for minutes or for hours, it isn't clear. But the touch startles him and he shoves his uncle away with all the anger and hatred he feels for himself. The older man doesn't have a hope for catching himself and hits the hope chest at the end of the bed, his hip cracking sickeningly.

Marcus stays frozen in place, the tears staunched by his own shock, his uncle passed out from the pain. When his dad comes in from the kitchen he's the one to call the ambulance, the one to try his uncle back into consciousness while Marcus just sits. For once in his life, the man in actually there for someone, when all Marcus could do was make things worse. It's something he can't bear. Not at this moment. He sees the bottle his dad left on the bedside table, takes it up, and swallows it down as fast as he can.

The scenery falls away again, into a dizzying spiral, a black hole just behind Marcus sucking it all up and leaving him here, alone. A haze of bright lights, indifferent faces, back alley gutters, whiz past him and he feels sick to his stomach. He loses his car, gets stabbed in the leg, passes out in a puddle of his own urine. A cool breeze breaks through the acrid hell he's being chained to and he's vomiting over the side of a dock. The freezing water splashes over his face and seems to sober him instantly. Some men are pointing and laughing, others shaking their head in disgust. One pushes off from where he's leaning against a docked boat and makes his way over, offering his hand and exchanging names. It's something old, something Marcus can't quite pronounce. He remembers it starts with a G.

The man looks familiar, and at that says he used to know Marcus' father. Fought with him in the war. Somehow he's taking it a whole hell of a lot better, and still not that well. He remembers Marcus, just a little, and wants to right by his brother in arms, he fixes the young man up, teaches him what he knows, locks him up in the boat's quarters during detox. Sometimes Marcus thinks he would rather die than go through this sober, but the man never gives up on him, never loses faith, and when he thinks he's ready, he lets Marcus go. There's a listing in the paper, a beat-up trawler listed for half of what it's worth. She's not as fancy as some of the boats out there, maybe not as reliable, but a ship like this, it'll be with a guy till the day he dies. So he decides to give himself another try, and as he walks down the pier, he starts to whistle a strange sort of melody…. He's heard it before, but it was out of place then too.

When the world falls away again he drops with it, but he doesn't scream. The sensation tosses his stomach and makes his muscles clench and when he opens up his eyes he is lying on his back in a bed, swaddled in blankets that are making him sweat.

"Hey buddy."

Marcus turns his head- _too fast_- and groans into his pillow, this world, the real one, spinning just as harshly as the others. Once Marcus gets everything to just stay put for a moment he open his eyes back up, the lids sticking together with gunk. Cottia is sitting on the floor in his living room, a patchwork quilt pulled lightly over her legs as she fiddles with something in her lap while simultaneously channel surfing.

"What time is it?" His voice is too loud and he grips at his head, grinding his teeth and cursing. This is something he'd hoped he'd never have to experience again.

"It's half-past one." She seems both amused and irritated by this and looks up from her tinkering to grimace at him. "Your breath is appalling. You should really do something about that before this conversation goes any further."

Marcus doesn't think that he could walk at the moment, let alone brave the kind of pain that standing at a sink and brushing his mouth will bring. But when Cottia turns resolutely away and makes a point of ignoring him, he figures he's going to have to do something. It takes about ten minutes to work up the courage to get to his feet, and he stares at his reflection in the mirror for another five. The sound of running water roars in his ears and makes him wince, but it's worth it for getting the stale, bitter taste out of his mouth. When he puts his toothbrush back in its holder he catches sight of the blue one next to it. Esca's.

Marcus doesn't know why he expected different, but he's genuinely surprised when he freezes again. He can't move, not an inch, even though all he wants to do is crumple to the ground and never get back up. Hot tears spill down his cheeks, but he makes no sound. After a while Cottia comes looking for him and at the sound of her footsteps he works up the courage to wipe his cheeks and blow his nose. By the time she opens the door he's moving around her to get out and back into the living room. "Why are you crying?"

Cottia follows him as he moves to the kitchen to try and get away from her, but she keeps trying to duck around his outstretched hand, and he hasn't had enough time to compose himself yet. "I'm not!" His voice breaks and he tries to cover it up by sticking his head in the fridge.

"Yes you are; I can tell." Her tone is gentle, but also firm, and he knows she's not going to let it drop. After a few seconds of silence she crosses her arms, and kicks him lightly in the shins. "Where's Esca?"

"Esca-" The words caught in Marcus' throat and he backpedaled, deciding away from the truth in a split second. "Esca had to go away for a while."

Her arms slowly unfold as the words sink in and they eventually drop to her sides. When Marcus chances a look back at her, her expression is carefully neutral. "That's why you're crying."

"No it's not." Marcus tries to sound gruff about it, to get her to let it go, but she's always had a knack for pushing too far. "I promise it's not."

"He's gone…" The only sound for a long while is Marcus getting out the ingredients for a sandwich. More for something to do with his hands, to keep his mind busy, than for any imagined appetite. "He must be away on sea business, but he'll be back you know." The way that she says it is so self-assured that Marcus feels his heart lifting without his permission. "He left something here, he'll be back for it."

Marcus pauses while slathering mayo over the bread and carefully sets the knife down. "You think? What could be so important as to bring him back?" He sounds fragile, Marcus knows it, but he's too tired to try and cover it up.

"I know it. He left his song." With that she turns away and Marcus watches as she rummages about in her quilt, freeing something from its tangles and holding it gently beneath her arm as she walks back. With a coy smile she puts Esca's music box on the table and pulls the key from a chain around her neck. "He left it with me, told me to keep it always and only let it out when you need it most." Her mouth dips into a little frown before she starts turning the key, careful not to turn too far. "I think you could use it now." When she lifts the lid the mechanisms slowly whir to life and the pedestal with the bird begins to turn. The notes tinkle out slowly, haphazard at first, but then the box seems to grow confident with itself and it… sings.

It sings a tune so familiar, so… haunting. Marcus nearly chokes on air, and he's thankful he put the knife down as his body spasms and the tears start to flow again. "It's real-"

Cottia smiles at him fondly, the same kind of smile she uses when she thinks he's being particularly thick-headed. "Of course it's real, it's Sigur Ros." She closes her eyes and begins to hum along, unaware of the panic attack that Marcus is only just fending off. Pulling at the collar of his sweater, still gasping for air he makes a dash for the door, rips it open and stumbles to the ground. The sun is too bright, the sea is too loud, and he feels like he's going to explode, but all he can think is that he left Esca. Cottia walks up behind him, and nudges his side with her foot. "You have to go after him, Marcus. Misery is easy, happiness you have to work at." He looks up at her, wiping the stinging wet from his eyes, always amazed by how much she sees. "You have unfinished sea business."

There's abandoned wreckage there, quite old from what you can tell. None of the original coloring is left, the metal turned orange and brown and red- made into something different by the sea. You take shelter beneath the hull, curling into yourself and avoiding the shallow tide pools in the rock. The clouds drift by as hours pass and you slip in and out of sleep. You are shivering, always shivering, and you think that maybe you already died, but you just don't know it yet. You could be this phantom essence, stuck in its dying moments, doomed to repeat them for eternity. You heard a story like that once, you think, and you chuckle at the irony of changing from one legend to another.

When you hear the churning of an engine nearby, you think it's something you concocted in your desperation. If you're not dead, you might be crazy. Though the two aren't really mutually exclusive. After a while the sound dies away, only to be replaced by frantic shouting minutes later. If your strain your ears you can just make it out over the roar of the waves. You're not sure what the voice is saying, but it's comforting to know you're not alone in this hell.

When the voice cuts off the engine starts in again and grows closer and closer, louder and louder. It sputters out when it sounds nearby and the hoarse shout reaches your ears again. It's not really much of a word, more just a beacon, calling out to see if there's any kind of response. You try not to make a sound, but as you scoot farther back, closer to the shell of the ship, you knock a stone loose and it clangs against the metal. The shout dies out mid-call and a short while you can hear grunts and curses as someone traverses the craggy formations surrounding this island.

The steps even out when the person reaches even ground and you pull into yourself as tightly as you can, tucking yourself into a shadow. The boots get closer, their steps hesitant, careful, searching, and eventually they come into sight around the bend of the ship. You see him long before he spots you, but you don't make a sound. It was desperate to think that he wouldn't spot you out, but he does, and picks his way towards you warily, keeping one eye on his footing and the other on your form.

You think he's close enough to hear, so you start to speak, but you don't go above a whisper. "When the storm rose up, they slipped into the sea- one by one. I thought that I could join them."

Marcus' eyes are sad and as he approaches he takes off his jacket and folds it over your body, lowering himself into a crouch. "I came back to the lighthouse- I…. I looked all over for you. When I saw your clothes by the rocks, I thought-" Marcus chokes on his words and looks away for a long while, but he keeps his hands a steady presence on your shoulder.

"What changed your mind?" You have to ask, no matter what your condition is, you won't just take whoever will have you.

"Cottia showed me your box, played me your song." He snorts and wipes at his nose, laughing humorlessly.

You look away from him because right now you're not ready to forgive and you think his stupid face might rush you into trying. "It was never my song."

"So tell me, tell me the truth." Marcus says it like he's in the position to be making demands right now and you scoff at him, while reminding yourself not to look back.

"No." The answer is heavy and it must take him aback because it is silent for a long time afterwards. He rubs at your shoulders and tries to work the circulation back into your limbs. The both of you work on getting you standing, but you don't look at each other's faces, don't try and break the pregnant silence.

You manage to make it back on the boat again, Marcus helping to lower you into the quarters so you can wrap yourself in the bedding, try and chase away the bite of the cold. He leaves the hatch open, keep a hand on it while he starts to sail back again so that it doesn't fall shut even on accident. "Please?"

He says it so softly, so unexpectedly that it takes a minute to register, a few more for you to decide if you want to answer. You didn't think you'd be able to hold back, but you also don't want to concede so much to him so readily. "I'm a creature from the sea that gave up all he had, all he was, because he found a family that he liked." Marcus gives you a sour look, but keeps on steering, doesn't try to press the issue right now, though you don't think he'll forget it. "That's _a _truth. So take me home."

Marcus bites his lip and rubs the back of his neck, taking his eyes off the waters for a moment to look straight at you. "And where is that?"

He asks with such hope, with such a brittle faith in his eyes. "Where do you think?" You know that the words came out with more of a sting than you had intended, and you look away from his intense gaze. "You brought me back to life. I found a caravan, a family. Now it's gone, okay? That's the truth."

Marcus presses a tight fist to his lips before shrugging his shoulder and pulling it away. "Caravan's going nowhere." It's gruff, just barely contained, a little broken, and somehow just what you were looking for. You settle down into the blankets and let yourself drift off into a real sleep.

He'd avoided you the whole rest of the day you got back, and this morning. When you woke up, he was nowhere to be seen. You'd shared the pull-out couch with Cottia, leaving Marcus to his queen-sized mattress, to whatever churning mire his thoughts and emotions might be. You're not really mad anymore, but that doesn't mean you've forgotten, doesn't mean that things haven't irreversibly changed between you. Thinking about him- it's like pressing against a burn you forgot you had- blistering, raw, but you know that just means the skin's peeling, that things will be okay eventually.

You make yourself a cup of tea and sit with it on the porch, just for a moment trying to let everything fall away. Cottia's illness, Marcus' jagged conviction, the town's prejudice, your own shattered memory, it's all so much. The air is crisp and cold this morning, a cool burn tingling your lungs on every intake. The brine of the sea is at once fresh, awakening, and yet ancient, deep. The pads of your fingers catch on the splintered wood beneath you, still damp with morning moisture, the knots weathered smooth. Honey from the tea lingers on your taste buds, warm, amber, thick and slow and sweet. A tell-tale crunching makes your ears perk, your breath hitch, your eyes open.

Marcus is making his way up the path, a small woven basket in hand, filled to overflowing with small, plump blueberries. He's cozied up in a cream colored sweater, and that ridiculous knit cap. The tip of his nose is pink. There's sleep-dust caught in his eye lashes. His mouth quirks when he catches sight of you, a smile or a frown- you can't quite make out. He doesn't say anything when he takes the three short steps to your side, but holds open the door and stands aside until you get up and move inside.

You follow him to the kitchen and watch as he grabs a copper colander from a nail above the sink and pours the berries inside, washing them thoroughly before setting it aside. He snags a great glass bowl from the open shelves and ambles over to the pantry, spending a short time rummaging inside before moving to the fridge and doing the same. When he turns back around to face you the bowl is filled with several boxes and bags and glass containers. He sets them gently on the dining table and ushers you over, assigning small jobs in a quiet voice.

He watches as you measure out milk and yeast, leave it to froth and bubble before pouring it into the mound of flour, baking soda, salt, and eggs in the biggest bowl. Slowly he moves behind you, places his hands against your forearms and slides them down until they fit over yours. You feel ridiculous as he helps to knead it all together into a dough, but you get distracted as the ingredients begin to mesh, their scent like early mornings, chilled fall air, love confessions choked up in the back of a throat. The stick and pull of it as you press your knuckles in deep makes you laugh softly and you think you catch Marcus smiling.

After a little bit he covers the bowl and sets it on a window sill, stopping you from washing your hands. "Getting messy is part of the experience." It's the first words he says that aren't an instruction, that aren't utterly necessary. They're rough, hesitant, and over too quickly. Before you can respond he turns away, grabs another bowl, asks you for the sugar and oranges on the table. He doesn't use measuring cups like you did when he adds white and brown sugar, orange juice and zest to the berries. He tosses them with his hands and you're fascinated by the vibrant purple they stain his skin. He catches you staring and blushes, voice gruff when he asks you to grab a baking sheet from the cabinet beside the stove. You line it with parchment paper and sprinkle it with brown sugar, clumps of butter thrown on top.

The both of you finish at the same time and Marcus pulls the dough back down, splits it in two and hands you half. He shows you how to press your half of the berries and juice into the dough, and helps you fold it so that they're in the center. You each quarter your individual mounds, purple spilling out onto the table and into your fingers. Marcus picks up his four pieces and twists them to make rolls, the berries sticking to the ridges and the juice glazing the whole thing. Yours are more amorphous blobs, but you think it's the effort that counts.

By the time you get them in the oven the kitchen is a disaster, Marcus and you both covered in splotches of flour, stained blue-purple by the berries, skin sticky sweet from the sugar and citrus. You smile at each other across the room and with purpose in every movement Marcus draws close, pulls you tight, and kisses you. His hands are freezing and tacky against your face, but he smells like warmth and love and safety and so you kiss him back. It's tender and a little bit painful, but when he pulls back, you don't regret it.

The two of you startle out of this quiet reverie when the sounds of Cottia waking clash through the small house. Marcus turns away and starts cleaning up the spectacular mess and after a few seconds of watching, you retreat to the bathroom. You strip down and get into the shower, turning the water as hot as you can stand before getting in and washing away all the evidence that you helped this morning. The whole time you're just short of hyperventilating, but it's not panic. The awful pit in the center of your stomach is bred of uncertainty, that fear of falling and the sick thrill that comes when you're standing at the edge of a precipice.

Pulling yourself together you dry yourself off, spend entirely too long staring down your reflection in the mirror, and redress before heading back out. You're utterly unsurprised to see Cottia waiting patiently on Marcus' bed, legs crossed and expression bored before she catches sight of you. Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, and somehow making it seem sweet, she pats the empty space beside her and waits patiently for you to stumble over before settling her chin in her hand and pursing her lips. "So-"

It's one word, only two letters, but it somehow hooks into you, makes you itch and pulls a response. "So… what? I feel like you know something that I don't and it's most certainly your turn to share."

"Oh, honey. I know lots of things you don't." Cottia smiles demurely and flutters her eyelashes at you, that bizarre mixture of teasing and complete seriousness still present. "But I think I might know what it is that you're looking for." She leans over the bed, craning her neck to see into the kitchen down the hallway, before pulling you close. Your noses are nearly touching and her breath on your cheek is heavy. When she makes eye contact it's as though the two of you are sealed off from the rest of the world. "Marcus is in love with you, absolutely, beyond a doubt, head over heels. He won't be the first one to say it, not ever, but he'll feel it deeper and purer than you can imagine."

You swallow thickly and steal a glance over your shoulder, unreasonably afraid that he can hear you even though you're whispering. "You can't be sure of that! No one can." You wring your hands and look away from her intense gaze, trying to keep uncertainty from boiling over. "I know what you're trying to do. You want me to leave with him, to give it all up and run away like he wanted to… but I can't. I just can't do that."

"And why not?!" Cottia's voice is shrill, even for a whisper, and she grabs your chin, forces you to look at her. You blink away the tears that are forming and try not to be cowed by the anger on her face. "What are you so afraid of?"

Your lips quiver as you try to hold it all back, as you pent up all that you keep so carefully inside. You can hear Marcus move into the living room, just feet away, and fall onto his creaky couch. You wish, you desperately wish that you could go curl up next to him, bury your face in his shoulder as he rubs absentminded circles into your back. You wish you could act like there wasn't anything strange or terrible about the both of you.

"I'm afraid that it's not enough! Don't you see it?" You're not sure when you decided to tell her, but all the sudden the words just burst forth, and you can't get them back. You're yelling and slashing at the air and you feel like if the pain would just get sharp enough, you'd black out. "What if we leave and five years later he grows tired of me? What if I'm only as interesting as my mystery and when he can't solve it, he gets angry and frustrated and spiteful? What if he regrets choosing me over his lifelong dream? What if we stop saying 'I love you' and he starts drinking again and it's all my fault? What if I _ruin _his life? I couldn't bear it! I could never forgive myself." You're shaking and your throat is sore and you're consumed by the sensation of falling, falling, falling.

A pair of arms wraps tightly around you and holds you up, presses you tight to the chest against your back. Hot tears transfer to the back of your neck and slide beneath your shirt. Marcus sniffs loudly in your ear as he falls onto the bed beside you and pulls you into his lap. You haven't really yet registered that he's even here, that he probably just heard everything you said. You just let him hold you close, be there for you. It takes a while for the both of you to calm, to come back into yourselves. By the time you do, the both of you are alone in the bedroom and red-eyed and snot soaked and still hiccupping. You wipe at your eyes and try to keep from tumbling back into that hysteria as Marcus combs his fingers through your hair and brushes your lips against his own.

"Esca-" His voice breaks and he has to swallow thickly before he can start again. "You're everything I was always too afraid to hope for. You're better than a dream, you're real."

You don't regret a single second, and just now, you're starting to believe that neither does he.

It's been five months, three weeks, and six days, and you haven't looked back since. Sometimes you miss the cove, your little house, the wildflowers that grew out back, but you know that if you ever had it all to do again, you'd pick the very same route every time. These days the world just seems to fly by and you don't know how you ever could have believed that that little port town was all that mattered, all there was. Away from it all, it almost seems like you're living in an entirely different world, the one before a cruel fever dream from a year spent in sickness. What the three of you went through to try and make such a small amount of people happy- people that you didn't even love- it's ridiculous, and the effects of it are starting to wear off, to drain slowly from your bodies and minds- a bitter toxin made thinner with each passing mile.

Now, each sunrise brings a new horizon, new sights to see, new things to experience. The boat isn't much, but it's enough when you're living like gypsies, the sea the only home you ever need. It isn't what any of you envisioned, what you thought your lives would turn out to be, instead it's so, so much better. Those dreams that seemed so important to Marcus and to Cottia, only held them back, held them down, kept them away from the life they were meant to live. Though they're not quite at that point yet, it's getting easier to see the difference between what they want and what they _need._

You still don't remember it all, only getting bits and pieces that don't mean much, not anymore, but you don't care so much, not really. The person that you used to be, if indeed you were, he's gone. All that matters is what's ahead, and that's what you try and tell everyone. Marcus and Cottia still ask, can't help but wonder if you're holding back, if you're amnesia is true, but you suppose that might fade with time, once there's more to remember than there is to forget.

Whatever the case is, he loves you, and that's what makes every morning worth it. Slowly floating back into consciousness, his breath warm on the back of your neck, his legs tangled with your own, his rough hands sitting heavy across your chest, it's what you live for.

* * *

**A/N: Ta-da! :D I fought this ending for about three months all on its own. I do so hope that it was somewhat satisfying. :P please, Please, PLEASE lemme know what you thought. ^^**


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